Accountable
by Dyce
Summary: The war is over. Hermione Granger's life, while safer, is no less complicated. Victory has had unintended consequences which affect not only Hermione, but all those around her.
1. Chapter 1: Confession

**_Accountable_** _By Dyce_

**Author's Note:** All characters named herein are property of J. K. Rowling, unless they are not in which case they are mine, and either way I do not profit by their use. I heartily encourage anyone who enjoys fanfiction to purchase and read/view/listen to/imbibe/eat the source material, as applicable.

Accountable is finished and complete, although the later chapters are still undergoing second-round beta-checking for misplaced commas and so forth. Accountable is thirty chapters long, plus epilogue, and will be posting twice weekly, on or about Saturday and Tuesday mornings Autralian time or Monday and Friday evenings by US time. I am bad at replying to feedback but nonetheless adore it and appreciate it and will name the best providers in the thanks section of the sequel, should there be one.

**EDIT:** It has been pointed out to me that I have forgotten to thank my betas here. I apologize sincerely for this, and would like to thank harmonybites and Bambu for all their work on correcting my punctuation and saidisms, their story suggestions, and their patience. I would also like to thank whitehound for checking my britishisms and pointing out the things I'd forgotten. Thank you, ladies - Accountable never would have been finished without you.

**Chapter 1: Confession**

It wasn't actually that difficult to get to Hogwarts out of term-time. The Granger household's fireplace was now connected to the Floo network - a word, a handful of powder and a determined effort not to be sick would get you to the post-office in Hogsmeade, and then it was just a nice brisk walk up to the gates and there you were. The gates were no longer kept locked and barred, and she made it inside the castle without being spotted by Hagrid.

Filch caught her almost as soon as she reached the Entrance Hall. "And what are you doing here, missy?" he asked, giving her a filthy look as he shuffled out of the shadows, Mrs Norris twisting around his ankles. "You're not supposed to be here during the summer holidays. No students are supposed to be here during the summer holidays."

Hermione nodded, straightening her spine and trying to look confident. "I need to see Professor McGonagall," she said coolly. "Something has... come up. A... family issue." Literally. Hysterical laughter bad now, though...

Filch made disbelieving noises. "And you just thought you'd drop by, is that it?"

"I have an appointment," Hermione said coolly, holding out the small scroll Professor McGonagall had sent in response to her plea for an immediate interview. "She is expecting me at eleven."

Filch glanced up at the large clock, scowling. It was precisely five minutes to eleven. "Very well then, very well, come along," he muttered, turning to lead the way.

In what felt like seconds, Hermione was standing before the familiar gargoyle. "Carpe Diem," she told it, and it swung obediently aside. "Thank you, Mr Filch," she said with automatic politeness, and then she started up the spiral stairs. This wasn't going to be an enjoyable interview, and time seemed to be speeding up the closer she got to it.

Professor McGonagall was waiting at the door of what had once been Professor Dumbledore's office. For once, she was glad he was no longer Headmaster - having this conversation with Professor McGonagall would be hard enough. "Come in, Miss Granger, come in," she said briskly, waving Hermione into the office. "Tell me what is so urgent that you had to come all the way here to talk to me about it."

Hermione walked into the room, and then stopped dead, looking around. Oh, God, she'd forgotten. "Er... Professor?" she said, her voice a little too high-pitched. "Could we talk _privately_, please?"

"What do you..." Professor McGonagall looked around at all the portraits. There really were quite a lot. "Oh. I see. Of course, Miss Granger, follow me."

Hermione followed her former Head of House through a small door hidden behind a tapestry and up a narrow flight of stairs set into the wall itself, into a room above the Headmaster's office that had to be her private study. It was a small room, quite cosy, with a couple of bookshelves, a tiny fireplace, and a lot of tartan. "Thank you, Professor," she said gratefully. "This is... a discussion in confidence, as far as that is going to be possible."

"Of course," Professor McGonagall said again, eyeing her with some concern. "Please sit down, Miss Granger, and tell me what the problem is, and how I can help."

Hermione sat down, fishing her hanky out of her pocket so she'd have something to fiddle with. "It's... it's a personal problem," she said quietly. "It might... I want to stay at Hogwarts and do my N.E.W.T.s, I really do, and I hope you'll let me, but..."

Professor McGonagall blinked, sitting down in the chair opposite. "Good heavens, girl, why ever wouldn't I? You're one of the most promising witches of your generation, and I would be most disappointed in you if you gave up your schooling now!"

Hermione looked down at the hanky. "It's just..." She swallowed hard and made herself look up at Professor McGonagall. "I'm going to have a baby," she said quietly. "I've just found out."

Professor McGonagall stared at her for a long moment, her mouth actually falling very slightly open. "Oh my," she said quietly. "That is... oh dear. How did this happen?" She actually went slightly pink when she realized what she'd said. "I mean, under what circumstances?"

Hermione fiddled with the hanky, folding it absently into tiny pleats. "It was the victory celebrations," she confessed quietly. "I'd... well, I don't usually drink, but I had then, and... apparently my hand was a bit too unsteady to perform the Contraceptive Charm properly."

"Oh," Professor McGonagall said, with a rather rueful smile. "What with all the celebrating, I imagine you probably aren't the only one to find herself in this... situation. Have you informed your parents?"

"Of course. I mean, it's not as if it's something I could hide from them - not for long, anyway." Hermione managed an equally rueful smile. "They're... well, they're not thrilled, but they're still so glad that I survived that nothing is upsetting them too badly just now."

"I'm not surprised - they were very worried for a while, I know that." Professor McGonagall leaned back in her chair, frowning thoughtfully. "I'm not sure of the Muggle stance on the subject, but I trust you are aware that there are ways of... well, now certainly isn't a good time for you to have a child, and should you decide that you aren't ready for the responsibility..."

"Terminating the pregnancy, you mean?" Hermione shook her head. "I know about the potions, Professor - I could make one myself without any difficulty - but I couldn't." She looked into the fire, biting her lip. "I'm all in favour of the idea in theory, but it isn't... right for me, not under these circumstances. I'll just have to manage."

"Well, if you're sure - you have another month or two before the decision becomes pressing," Professor McGonagall said a little doubtfully. "There is adoption, of course, or perhaps your parents would care for the child?"

Hermione shook her head. "No. I've given this a lot of thought, Professor McGonagall, and this is... I want to take my N.E.W.T.S, and I know that pregnant students usually leave school, but as far as I've been able to determine, that's just a tradition; there's no actual _rule_ about it..."

"Of course you may stay," Professor McGonagall said, very firm and brisk, the way she always was when touched or upset. "You'll be assigned private quarters once you reach your third trimester, and you'll be assigned a house-elf to assist you with caring for the baby when he or she arrives. I certainly won't have you losing your chance at the N.E.W.T.s... although you do realize that having a new baby is going to make things very difficult."

"Yes, Professor," Hermione said, feeling her chin set stubbornly, "but I'll manage. If I can keep Harry from getting us all killed while getting almost all O's in my O.W.L.s, then I can handle the N.E.W.T.s with a baby. At least the baby won't be able to run away as soon as my back is turned."

That got a startled chuckle. "Yes, well, an excellent point, Miss Granger," Professor McGonagall said more cheerfully. "You will, of course, have to adjust your timetable slightly..."

Hermione nodded. "Herbology and Defence are both... problematic," she said regretfully. "And I know I'll have to give up Potions. I hate to lose it, but given how volatile some of the substances we deal with are, in seventh year..."

"There are certain risks to all three subjects, especially Potions," Professor McGonagal agreed. "I will talk to your teachers, however, and I believe Professor Sprout and Professor Lupin will be willing to adjust your coursework slightly to allow you to continue with those subjects. As for Potions... if you want to take the N.E.W.T., Professor Snape might be willing to let you keep up with the written work, and do your best to catch up on the practical after you are delivered."

Hermione was sure she felt some of the stitching give as her hands tightened on the handkerchief. "Professor Snape is going back to teaching Potions, then?" she asked, amazed at how casual her voice sounded. "Professor Lupin told us he was taking on Defence for one more year, but I didn't know what Professor Snape's plans were."

"Yes, he has agreed to resume his old position, now that Horace has gone back into retirement," Professor McGonagall said rather primly. "We are very fortunate... Potions is not a popular subject among teachers, and finding a replacement would have been extremely difficult."

"Very fortunate." Hermione hoped that sounded more sincere than it was. "Thank you, Professor. Aside from not actually handling dangerous substances, or getting directly hexed, I'll keep up with the class, I promise you."

"I'm sure you will. You've certainly managed so far, often under very trying conditions." Professor McGonagall nodded, giving her a thoughtful look. "Forgive me for prying, Miss Granger, but I must ask... to what extent will the baby's father be involved? I understand that these days there is no necessity for you to have a wandpoint-wedding, but..."

"I haven't told him yet," Hermione said in a small voice, starting to smooth out the pleated and crumpled hanky. "I doubt he'll want to be... involved. At all. Ever."

Professor McGonagall's dark eyebrows rose sharply. "I trust that, whoever he is, he will behave appropriately," she said sharply. "Unplanned the child may be, but even so, he has certain responsibilities. Who is it?"

"I can't tell you," Hermione said, surprised that her voice sounded so firm. "Unless he wants to be involved, I don't intend to tell anyone."

The eyebrows rose slightly higher. "You intend to have and raise a child completely unassisted? Miss Granger... Hermione... that is a difficult task at the very best of times, but to be without support with a new baby in your N.E.W.T. year..."

"I'll have support. I'm sure I can count on my friends, and my mum and dad are going to be there for me." Hermione straightened up a little defiantly. "He isn't in any way to blame for this, and I have no intention of making any demands on him."

Professor McGonagall gave her what could only be described as a Very Old-Fashioned Look. "The last time I checked, Miss Granger, and admittedly that was quite some time ago, it did still take two to tango," she said sharply. "I trust you have not been so utterly foolish as to involve yourself with a married man."

"No, of course not!" Hermione said indignantly. "I would never get involved with someone who was attached, married or not!"

"Well... good. Then I do not see the difficulty - this is his child, and he at the very least owes you and the baby some form of official acknowledgement." Icicles practically formed on the words.

"It's not... like that," Hermione said quietly, looking down at her hands. "Professor McGonagall, this is my fault, and nobody else's. I made... a mistake is just too mild a word for it. I did something I'm horribly ashamed of."

"What could - "

"Please, let me just say it all at once." Hermione lifted her head, focusing on a small landscape hanging on the wall. "I... at the party, I encountered someone who I liked, someone I was attracted to - no Secret Love or anything, I don't know him that well, but I _liked_ him. I knew it wasn't mutual - I doubt he'd even noticed that I'm female. But I'd been drinking, and I... made a pass at him." Her face was burning with shame, and she bit her lip. "He took me up on it. And I knew right then that he must be much more seriously inebriated than I was, because if he was drunk enough to accept an offer from _me_, he was probably one drink away from accepting a proposition from Professor Trelawney. I knew he wouldn't have, if he'd been anywhere within shouting distance of sober. I knew he'd probably be appalled at the notion of... of sleeping with me. But I went ahead with it anyway, because it was what I wanted." Her eyes were burning, and her vision was blurring a little at the edges. "And I knew I shouldn't, and I've felt horribly guilty ever since. I could hardly believe I could do something so unethical."

There was a long pause. "I... see," Minerva McGonagall said slowly. "I must admit, I don't quite know what to say. You know that what you did was very wrong."

"Yes. I know that," Hermione said, the tears starting to trickle down her cheeks. "And I am _so_ sorry for it. I don't think he even knows... I'm fairly sure he doesn't remember much about that night. If he did, I'm absolutely _certain_ I'd have heard about it by now. And now I have to tell him."

"Oh, dear." Professor McGonagall seemed to realize how inadequate the words were, making an annoyed face. "Well, you do have to tell him. You do realize that he probably won't be pleased with the news, of course."

"If I was him, I'd be furious." Hermione nodded, wiping her eyes with the abused hanky. "I don't blame him at all. But I won't involve him at all unless he decides he wants to be involved. I owe him that, at the very least."

"Yes, I see that," Professor McGonagall said, and she reached over to pat Hermione gently on the hand. "It won't be easy for you, having a baby with an unnamed father, but I do agree it's the right thing to do."

Hermione nodded, wiping her eyes again. "I have to tell him today," she said. "Today is my day for telling people - you this morning, then him, then I have to go see Harry and the others. Would you... er... would you mind being the one to tell the other teachers?"

"Of course not. That will all be taken care of by September first," Professor McGonagall said bracingly. "And if you need any help, Miss Granger, at any time, please do not hesitate to call on me. I may no longer be your Head of House, but I will always be here if you wish to talk."

"Thank you, Professor." Hermione gave her a watery smile. "And if at all possible, please keep the... details... a secret?"

Professor McGonagall nodded. "You conceived during the victory celebrations, and although you know who the father is, you choose not to name him. That is all your teachers need to know." She smiled a little. "While you did do wrong, Miss Granger, I see no reason to advertise a lapse in judgement of which you are sincerely penitent and for which I'm sure you will attempt to make up, insofar as that is possible."

"I will." Hermione nodded. "Er... Professor, would it be all right if I didn't leave right away? I'd like to see if there are any useful books in the library - Madam Pince will put them aside for me, I'm sure. And I should talk to Madam Pomfrey as well." She shrugged and smiled ruefully. "I need to work up my nerve before I see him, and being here is sort of reassuring."

"Of course," the Headmistress said, going very brisk again as her voice caught slightly. "You are always welcome, Miss Granger. Do take care of yourself."

* * *

"Are you sure you want to go through with this?" Madam Pomfrey asked anxiously. "There are several very safe potions that could - "

"I know, Madam Pomfrey," Hermione said, as patiently as she could manage. "I even know how to brew them. But that just... doesn't feel right, for me. I'm all in favour of the option being available, but that doesn't mean I want to take advantage of it myself."

"But you're so young. And your N.E.W.T. year... you're going to be a wreck by the end of it all."

"I know." Hermione sighed. "And absolutely everyone I've told has made sure to tell me that it's my decision and that I have options and that I shouldn't feel like I have to go through with this. And I've made my decision after considering my options, and I'm going to go ahead and have the baby. I always wanted to have children; this is just a bit sooner than I'd scheduled."

"Well, if you're sure." Madam Pomfrey nodded and put on her best Encouraging Smile. "Now, you've seen a Healer, haven't you?"

"Yes, Mum and I went to St Mungo's yesterday. I'm fifty-five days along, chances of minor complications 0.8 percent, chances of miscarriage or other serious complications currently 0.002 percent." She smiled. "You know, Muggle doctors can't tell nearly so much, especially not this early."

"Well, of course they can't, dear, they don't use magic," Madam Pomfrey said cheerfully. "Are you planning to go to St Mungo's to have the baby?"

Hermione blinked. "Do I have another choice?"

"Of course, dear... you can arrange for a midwife to attend you right here at the school, if you like. I don't know about Muggles, but plenty of witches prefer to have their babies in the comfort of their own homes." Madam Pomfrey patted her shoulder. "I'd offer to help out myself, but I haven't delivered a baby since well before you were born. It's probably best for both your nerves and mine if I just assist when the time comes."

"Oh..." Hermione felt the ever-present tears welling up again. "I'd like that, very much. Thank you, Madam Pomfrey."

"Call me Poppy, dear," she said, giving Hermione a quick, bracing hug. "We're going to be seeing quite a bit of each other for a while, so you might as well."

* * *

Hermione had been staring at the door for nearly five full minutes.

She had to knock. Knocking was inevitable. This conversation was unavoidable. She was going to just knock on the door and get it over with.

Any time now.

"Miss Granger."

"Augh!" She let out an embarrassing shriek as she jumped the proverbial foot in the air. "I... ah... Professor Snape, I was just about to knock. I thought you'd be in your office..."

"So I assumed, since you were looking at the door as if it was about to bite you," Snape said coolly. "What are you doing here? I had anticipated another eight days blissfully free of students before the beginning of term."

"I need to talk to you," she said, twisting her fingers together nervously. "Please. In private. It's... well, it's important."

He raised an eyebrow. "I find it difficult to believe that there could be anything sufficiently important for you to come barging into the school over a week ahead of schedule and demand a private audience with me, of all people," he said icily. "I am in no mood for idle - "

"Professor," Hermione said desperately, "do you remember what you did the night of the Order's victory party? After Hagrid brought out the second cask of brandy?"

He blinked, and his face hardened. "Very well," he said grimly. "You may have five minutes, Miss Granger. I suggest you make them count." He opened the door to his office, propelling her inside with a firm hand between her shoulder blades.

Hermione waited until he'd slammed the door to face him. Oh, this was going badly already. "Professor - "

"I do not particularly care what it is that you think is so important," he snapped, folding his arms and glaring down at her. "And I do not appreciate blackmail, implied or otherwise. No matter what I may or may not have done in an excess of relief - "

"Professor Snape, please, I'm sorry for intruding, and I didn't mean to... to imply that I would blackmail you. The party is what I wanted to talk about."

"Really." That sardonic eyebrow elevated again. "What, precisely, did I do at the party that is of such vital importance?"

Hermione blushed, looking down at her fingers as they knotted together nervously. "Me," she said in a tiny voice. "Er... that is, you and I, uh... I was sure you didn't remember, but..."

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw him freeze, going so absolutely still that he looked like an ivory statue swathed in black. "Miss Granger, that is not remotely amusing."

"Believe me, I know that," she whispered. "And I'm sorry. But... it happened. I wasn't going to tell you; I thought you'd be happier not remembering, but I'm... uhm... there's an unforeseen long-term consequence..."

The statue did not move. "Miss Granger, if this is some sort of joke..." he hissed, tone sharpened by malice. "I consider it unlikely to the point of impossibility that there is _any_ circumstance in which you and I might indulge in that particular activity, and let me assure you, I have no intention of taking the blame for your lack of foresight."

Hermione swallowed hard. "I wouldn't ask you to," she said quietly, praying that her voice would stay level. "Please understand, Professor, I was most decidedly the one in the wrong, here. I have no intention of asking you for anything, or of... of making this public, if you don't want it to be. But I thought you were entitled to know what happened."

Her assumed calm seemed to unsettle him slightly - he lost his frozen immobility, frowning as he drifted over to the desk. "I am still unconvinced, Miss Granger," he said coldly. "But you may tell your story, if you wish."

She nodded. "We'd both been drinking, you more than me... at least, I think so," she said quietly, unable to look him in the eye. Instead, she fixed her eyes on his thin hands, very white against the black of his robes as he tapped the fingers together thoughtfully. "It was my fault... I was the one who made the first move, and I knew you wouldn't have accepted if you were anywhere within shouting distance of sobriety. But you weren't, and I took advantage of it. I'm sorry."

Tap... tap... tap went his fingers. "You're sorry," he said, voice heavy with irony. "You take advantage of someone you know is heavily intoxicated, who you know would never under any circumstances have consented while in his right mind, you then compound your appalling moral shortcoming with the added stupidity of failing to perform a Contraception Charm... and you're sorry. Well. That makes everything quite all right."

"I know it doesn't, sir," she whispered, eyes prickling. "But-"

"_You're damned right it doesn't_!" he roared, taking two furious steps towards her as she jumped back. "Were our positions reversed, had I been the one to take advantage of _your_ inability to give informed consent, I would be facing public disgrace and perhaps even a trial! And you are _sorry_?"

"What else can I say?" she said miserably, making herself look him in the face. "Professor, I _am_ sorry, I know what I did was terrible... and if you want to disgrace me in public, I have no right to object. My behaviour was indefensible, and I know there's no way I can make up for it."

He frowned a little, her agreement seeming to put him somewhat off his stride. Given the feud with Harry, Professor Snape was probably more accustomed to angry defiance than to meek apology. "And if I did, you and I both know that the blame would still be attributed to me, by your little friends and anyone inclined to take Harry Potter's word for the truth," he said bitingly. "Because I, of course, must have taken advantage of you, despite being so bloody drunk that it's a miracle I was capable of performing at all... something I'm not entirely convinced of."

"You were," Hermione said quietly, lifting her chin stubbornly. "I'll be happy to submit to any Truth Spell you choose... or Veritaserum, if you would prefer. Or you can wait until the baby is born and perform a Verity Charm yourself."

His head came up and he gave her a startled look. "I can wait until _what_? Miss Granger, you cannot possibly intend to go through with this. If you are incapable of brewing or procuring the requisite potion, I will provide it, if only to ensure that this... incident... is dealt with once and for all."

Hermione gritted her teeth. "For what I devoutly hope is the _last_ time today, I am not going to terminate this pregnancy," she snapped. "I will ask nothing of you; I will take the secret of his parentage to my grave if necessary; and I will do my utmost to never force my company on you again, but I will _not_ get rid of my child!"

Defiance seemed to trigger defiance... he drew himself up, glaring at her. "Very well," he growled. "Since you are so determined to keep the child, you may do so. But if my name is _ever_ associated with it, if you breathe so much as a word implicating me in your stupidity - "

"I won't," Hermione said, her eyes filling with tears at the look of loathing on his face. "And I'm still more sorry than I can say. I know I shouldn't have done what I did and... I'm sorry."

He glared at her. "Get out of my office!"

Hermione fled.


	2. Chapter 2: Holding Back

Disclaimers in Chapter 1.

**Chapter 2: Holding Back**

"Hermione? Sweetheart?" Jane Granger sat down on the bed beside her daughter, resting a tentative hand on Hermione's back. She'd come home from telling - whoever he was - about the baby, calmly informed them that she would be raising the baby alone, gone upstairs, and collapsed into floods of tears. Jane had tactfully left her alone until the sobs quieted - even when she'd been a little girl, Hermione had preferred to go off by herself to cry. "How are you feeling?"

"Dried out and sticky." Hermione sniffed, rolling onto her side and giving her mother a woeful look. "It... didn't exactly go well."

"I did get that impression." Listening to her daughter's hopeless sobs, Jane had privately vowed to find out who the father was - it was bound to come out eventually - and make him suffer as much as one angry mother could manage. "You know your father and I will always be here for you if there's anything we can do to help."

"I know, Mum," Hermione said, sitting up and giving her mother a tight hug. "Thank you. This isn't going to be easy... at least, that's what everyone keeps telling me."

"No, it isn't... but having a child never is, no matter what the circumstances." Jane hugged her back. "You'll manage, love, I know you will."

"Thanks, Mum." Hermione smiled a wobbly smile, then wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. "Right. I should go have a shower and try to make myself presentable. I have to go to the Burrow and tell them about this." She winced. "It's not going to be much fun."

"I should think not... do you want Dad and I to go with you?"

"No thanks, Mum... the boys are going to be bad enough as it is, without everyone pestering you with questions about Muggles as well." Hermione gave her a wry smile. "Don't worry; I'll be all right. I'll stay for dinner, but I won't be home late." She rummaged around in her wardrobe, pulling out a pretty rose-pink robe, then frowning and pushing it back in. "I'll need those soon enough," she muttered darkly and found a clean pair of jeans and a blouse instead. "I might as well wear them while they fit," she explained, and then she vanished out of the door. A moment later, the bathroom door clicked shut.

Jane wandered forlornly downstairs and into the kitchen, where her husband was staring into a cup of tea. "How is she?" Phillip Granger asked, looking up.

"Showering and tidying herself up before she goes over to the Burrow," Jane said, sitting down beside him and resting her chin on her hands. "I asked her if she wanted us to go with her, but she said no."

"I offered to talk to the Headmistress for her, and she said no to that too. Nicely, of course," Phillip said, putting an arm around his wife's shoulders. "And I told her she was welcome to come home after she finishes school, that we'd be happy to have them with us for a while, but she's still determined to find a job and move out as soon as she gets her Salamanders or whatever they are."

"I knew it," Jane said sadly. "It's the war all over again. She won't let us help - she won't even tell us what's going on. I know she doesn't want us to worry, but I'd worry less if I could _do_ something."

"You can't blame the war," Phillip said, kissing her forehead gently. "Remember when she was six years old and told you that you didn't need to walk with her to school any more? Or when she was eleven and she tried to insist on shopping for magic schoolbooks by herself? Our daughter is hopelessly independent."

"I don't know where she got it." Jane sighed, wondering if obstinate independence could be catching, and if so, where her daughter had acquired it. "She's positively secretive at times."

"I know. But she'll be all right," Phillip said optimistically. "She's clever, and she has good friends who'll stand by her."

* * *

Hermione wasn't entirely sure about the standing by part, but thankfully, she had good friends who were extremely forthright and who had years of urgent secret meetings behind them. They could be dim in other ways, but a whispered 'We need to talk, somewhere private' got immediate results, and no silly questions like 'why'.

Ten minutes after her arrival, she, Ron, Harry and Ginny were up in Ginny's room with the door locked. Hermione had claimed one end of Ginny's bed, and she squirmed a bit as all three of them looked at her inquiringly. "So... uh... how are Fred and George doing?" she asked lamely. "Business still good?"

"Booming, as usual." Harry, who was sharing the other end of the bed with Ginny, shrugged and looped his arm around Ginny's shoulders. "But you didn't drag us up here to talk about the twins and their business prospects, did you?"

"Well... no." Hermione picked up Ginny's pillow, resting it across her knees and fiddling with the pillowcase absently. "I have something serious to tell you. It's just not easy to start."

"Well, why don't you just say it straight out, and we'll tell you how you could have done it more tactfully?" Ron suggested, grinning.

Hermione couldn't honestly come up with anything else, so she shrugged and nodded. "All right," she said, voice higher than usual with nervousness. "I... uhm... Igotknockedupduringthevictorycelebrations."

There was a long silence.

"Hermione, did you just say what I thought you just said?" Harry asked tentatively.

"Er... yeah," Hermione said in a small voice, clutching the pillow like a shield. "I'm going to have a baby."

Harry and Ginny both looked at Ron accusingly. Ron looked at Hermione accusingly. "We were still dating during the victory celebrations!" he said angrily.

"How seriously?" Harry asked.

"I didn't have anything to do with this!"

"No, you were snogging Cynthia Bunworth at the time!" Hermione scowled.

Ron had the grace to blush. "Well, we'd had a fight," he mumbled.

"After which we both went off and did something stupid with other people. Which is why we broke up," Hermione said, glaring at him. "You just be grateful that Cynthia isn't in the same state I am. From what I heard..."

"Ron!" That was Ginny, looking outraged. "You cheated on Hermione?"

"Well, she did too!" Ron said a little defensively. "And we broke up the next morning!"

"This is why I didn't want them to start going out," Harry said conversationally, carefully removing Ginny's wand from her hand. "I knew they'd start fighting, and it'd all end in tears."

"Yes, well, you were right, Harry, well done you," Hermione snapped, and to her annoyance, her eyes filled up again. "This conversation isn't actually _about_ me and Ron, though."

Ron and Harry both looked guilty. Ginny abandoned Harry's arm and crawled down to the other end of the bed to give Hermione a hug. "Of course it isn't. They're just big male prats, that's all. Are you all right?"

"I'm going to be pregnant or a mother for my N.E.W.T.s year, of course I'm not all right." Hermione sniffled, hugging her back. "And don't anyone tell me there are potions that can solve that problem, I'm not going to take one."

"Of course not," Harry said, looking shocked. "Whoever suggested that you would?"

Hermione glared at him. "I could if I wanted to," she said, perversely annoyed at him for not insisting on her freedom of choice even if she didn't want him to. "It's a perfectly valid option, this isn't the Middle Ages..."

"I know that," Harry said hastily. "But you wouldn't want to. I mean, I suppose you might, but... I know you, Hermione, and I can't imagine you ever... taking the easy way out, you know?"

Hermione relaxed slightly. Harry was getting surprisingly perceptive in his old age. "No, I wouldn't," she agreed. "Although I'm still in favour of the option being available."

"Oh, so am I," Harry said, clearly glad that the minor crisis had been averted. "But... uh..." He gave Ginny a pleading look.

"Harry wants to know who it was if it wasn't Ron," Ginny translated. "I'd quite like to know, too... I mean, we're going to have to hex him into a twitching puddle if he doesn't treat you well."

"Damn right we will," Ron said, brightening slightly at that happy prospect. One of the many things Hermione had decided that she didn't like about Ron was his propensity for solving problems with violence. "Who is he?"

Hermione shook her head. "I'm not going to tell you."

"We won't hex him if you don't want us to," Harry said, glaring at Ron. "But you can't keep it a secret forever."

Hermione leaned against Ginny, who hugged her gently. "I can and I will, Harry," she said quietly. "I'm not going to tell you. I'm not going to tell _anyone_. Ever."

"But..." Ginny frowned. "He doesn't want to be involved, does he?" she asked accusingly. "That's how you can get away with just not telling anyone - because he's not going to have anything to do with you or the baby."

Harry sat straight up. "He _what_?"

"Well, it's obvious, the only way she could actually not tell anyone ever is for him to be completely out of the picture, otherwise we'd be bound to find out," Ginny said reasonably.

Having a friend with a passing grasp of logic was annoying. Hermione sniffled a bit, wiping her eyes with her sleeve. "More or less, yes. And he has every reason not to want to speak to me ever again, so you're all going to skip the threats to hex him and demands to know who he is."

"But - "

Harry frowned. "Shut up, Ron."

"But - "

"Harry told you to shut up, Ron, so shut up." Ginny patted Hermione's back gently. "We'll do whatever we can to help," she said comfortingly. "And if anyone tries to give you a hard time, we'll hex them instead, all right?"

Ron nodded, brightening again at the promise of having a chance to hex _someone_, and Harry reached over to pat Hermione's shoulder gently. "Of course we'll help," he said. "Although I honestly have never changed a nappy in my life, so someone'll have to show me how."

"I will," Hermione said, smiling damply at him. After that, they settled into some serious discussion, and Hermione allowed herself to relax... but not too much.

Harry and Ron might have let the issue of her baby's paternity drop for now, but she must be careful never to drop any hint of who it was. They'd kill him first, and ask questions never.

* * *

Severus had been pacing for hours.

At first he'd been furious, storming blindly around his office, telling himself that she was lying, trying to make a fool out of him somehow - he would remember, of course he would, if anything like that had happened. It had been long enough that even a probably brief and certainly unimpressive drunken encounter would be memorable. Surely it would.

Surely.

On the other hand, it was a stupid lie to tell. If she spread the word (surely she would at least tell Potter and Weasley, and she might as well shout it from the North Tower), certainly he would be disdained even more than before, if that were possible, but so would she. To willingly bed the Potions Master, the Exonerated But Still Suspect Traitor? She'd lose all respect from her peers, and Minerva McGonagall would have kittens, albeit not literally. She'd be a fool to try it, and despite her choice of friends, Hermione Granger wasn't a fool.

And if she really was expecting a child - he cringed inwardly at that thought - disproving his alleged paternity would be absurdly simple. She'd suggested the Verity Charm herself. Even Muggles could prove or disprove paternity these days.

If he'd gotten the girl pregnant, however blameless he might be in the matter, Minerva would skin him.

No. No, it was impossible. He would _not_ have had sex with a student. Especially not Hermione Granger. Admittedly they had worked well together during the war, and she was an intelligent and able young witch, but that persistently waving hand had appeared in several of his less blood-soaked nightmares, usually with a question he couldn't answer. She was presentable enough, these days, but not irresistible by any means. He couldn't have.

It had to be a joke. One of the humiliating, unamusing, often dangerous pranks that passed for Gryffindor humour. He wouldn't have expected it of her - he had never seen her indulge in the casual cruelty that some of her housemates found amusing. That would explain her nervousness and shame... if she'd been coerced somehow into trying to embarrass him. Perhaps he'd been intended to try to take the soft, tempting bait, to be lured into laying hands on the girl.

Guilt had been radiating off her. Good God, if it were true... He laughed out loud, a gasping, humourless laugh, at the sheer absurdity of the idea; him, the greasy git, being sexually molested by a student! At least she'd had the decency to know that for what it was; she hadn't tried to blame it on her own drunkenness or claim that enthusiasm while blind bloody drunk counted as informed consent.

And she'd apologised, as if it were the worst thing she could imagine, as if she'd expected cries of outraged virtue... as much as the thought of being compelled made his skin crawl, as unnerving as it was to not remember what had happened, a quick tumble while they were both pissed was practically a high point in his life, compared to everything else. Which didn't mean he wasn't furious about it, of course, if it had actually happened.

If she'd taken him up on the offer of the potion, it would have been understandable. A student might well think it the perfect way to blackmail him into providing one. It had been tried before on students with a flair for potions.

Except that Hermione Granger _had_ a flair for potions. If she ever got over her obsession with following rules and instructions to the letter, she'd be brilliant. Even now, she was quite capable of brewing the requisite potion herself. Nobody would ever have needed to know - her Muggle parents wouldn't recognize it even if they caught her brewing it.

Aside from trying to embarrass him somehow - and he was fairly sure nobody else had been watching - he simply couldn't come up with a good reason for her to lie about something like this. He wanted to, he wanted to desperately, because the alternative was too horrible to contemplate, but he couldn't.

He realized suddenly that his knees were aching and his feet starting to hurt. Muttering a curse - the latest of many - he sat down behind his desk, spreading his hands flat on the cool wood. According to the clock, he'd missed dinner, not that his tension-knotted stomach would have been receptive to food. He'd been pacing around his small office for hours.

Hermione Granger, of all people!

* * *

Severus was feeling worse than usual at breakfast. He had hardly slept, and when he had, he had had vague, disturbing dreams in which he was in the middle of teaching a class when he looked down and realized there was a baby in every cauldron instead of a potion, and Hermione Granger had laughed and twined soft arms around his neck before turning into a kitten and scampering away.

And that had been the more lucid part of the dream.

"Well, since we're all here," Minerva said, setting down her teacup, and he stifled a groan. Albus Dumbledore had favoured official staff-meetings. Minerva had a tendency to give them their daily orders over breakfast, when they were sleepy and vulnerable. At least she'd have to stop that when the students arrived. "I have a rather serious subject to discuss with all of you." She set a red and gold prefect's badge on the table in front of her. "Among other things, we are now short one Gryffindor Prefect."

"Good heavens, why?" Filius Flitwick asked, craning to see. "Has something happened?"

"I suppose it's too much to hope for that Weasley has decided to forgo further education," Severus muttered, but his heart wasn't in it. He had a horrible feeling that he knew exactly whose badge that was, and why it had been returned.

Minerva gave him a filthy look. "The badge belongs to Hermione Granger," she said grimly. "She does not feel that it will be either feasible or appropriate to continue her duties as a Prefect this year."

"Why not?" Pomona Sprout asked, looking concerned. "Is she unwell?"

"Not precisely." Minerva took a deep breath, clearly steeling herself for the unpleasant announcement. "Miss Granger requested a meeting with me yesterday. She told me that she is expecting a baby and asked to be allowed to remain at Hogwarts to finish her N.E.W.T. year."

Severus set his face in its habitual scowl, ignoring the startled murmurs of his fellow teachers. This was... unanticipated. He should have expected it, of course, but somehow it hadn't occurred to him that she'd tell Minerva McGonagall... and how much had she told?

"It would be a terrible waste if she left school now," said Septima Vector, looking upset. "The girl has a natural gift for Arithmancy that I haven't seen in years. You did give her permission to continue, didn't you, Minerva?"

"Well of course I did, Septima, don't be ridiculous," Minerva said tartly. "She's a gifted young witch who is genuinely dedicated to her studies. I have no intention of denying her the opportunity to sit her N.E.W.T.s because she had a lapse of judgement during the victory celebrations. She's hardly the only one."

"Good." Sprout beamed - the Head of Hufflepuff was an earthy woman and fond of children. "No reason for her not to continue - it'll be hard work, of course, but the girl thrives on that. Who's the father?"

This was an interesting question, and everyone turned towards Minerva, who frowned. "She refused to tell me. I understand that she told the baby's father about the situation yesterday, after speaking to me about remaining at Hogwarts - she sent me a note this morning, along with the badge, confirming that he did not wish to be a part of the baby's life, or hers, and that she had her own reasons for not wishing to press the issue."

Hooch snorted. "Silly girl," she said disapprovingly. "Shouldn't let him get away with that."

"Yes, well, that is her decision," Minerva said repressively. "And I am certain that she has her reasons, which are nobody's business but her own. However, her pregnancy will require some slight adjustments in her class schedule. Naturally, Arithmancy and Ancient Runes will not be a problem... although I understand pregnancy can disrupt self-focused Arithmantic calculations, is that correct?"

"Occasionally, but it shouldn't be any problem." Vector nodded. "I'll warn Miss Granger about the possibility, though."

"Thank you, Septima. Filius, will Charms be any problem?"

"Oh, I don't think so," Flitwick said cheerfully. "I can't think of anything on the seventh-year syllabus that might be dangerous, and of course I'll keep an eye out for accidents."

"Good. Transfiguration should be feasible, although she'll have to postpone self-transfiguration slightly." Minerva nodded. The Headmistress would be teaching N.E.W.T. level Transfiguration, until a new teacher could be found. It was a difficult subject, and the temporary teacher she had managed to scrounge up, a Professor Lewellyn, simply wasn't up to Minerva's exacting standard for post-O.W.L work. "As for the problem subjects - Pomona, will you be able to get her through to N.E.W.T. standard without putting the baby's health at risk?"

Sprout thought it over for a moment. "Should be easy enough," she decided. "She'll have to sit out a few of the more active classes, but if she takes notes, that should do."

"Very good. Remus?"

Lupin, who'd been looking worried (scarred lump of sloppy sentiment that he was), nodded. "If she wants to continue the subject, I'll arrange it," he said quietly. "She'll have to sit out a few classes, as Pomona says, but she'll manage with the notes, I think."

"Good." Minerva nodded sharply and looked down the table at the Potions Master, who was dissecting his sausage in an attempt to maintain a proper appearance of disinterest. "Severus, about Potions - "

"She will have to drop the subject," Severus said flatly.

Flitwick gave him a reproachful look. "Severus, the rest of us are willing to make a few compromises in order to allow the girl to continue, surely you can - "

"Of the thirty-four potions on the seventh-year syllabus, twenty-seven are potentially harmful to a pregnant woman at some point during the brewing process, and all of them are potentially life-threatening if they are brewed incorrectly," Snape said caustically. "Having children involves sacrifice, something Miss Granger might as well learn now."

"I had suggested to Miss Granger," Minerva said, giving him a distinctly chilly look, "that perhaps you might permit her to follow along with the written work. There is no reason why she cannot, at least, complete the essay portion of the course. If she is given the opportunity to brush up on her brewing after the child is born, which will be well over a month before the N.E.W.T..."

Severus sneered at her. "It sounds as if you have made up my mind for me," he said harshly. "I cannot help but wonder why you bothered to ask me if the decision has already been made."

"I was being civil, Severus," Minerva said icily. "A practice you might do well to imitate. Especially when it comes to Miss Granger."

"Very well," Severus snarled, abandoning his breakfast and standing up. "I will go and rearrange my entire schedule so that Miss Granger may flout all common sense and school tradition to continue a subject for which she has little aptitude and less appreciation." He turned, stalking towards the door. Damn it! He'd been sure that he wouldn't have to deal with her as a student, at least, not now...

"Severus," Remus called after him, sounding reproachful. "It wouldn't hurt you to be a little more considerate of Hermione. She did save your life."

Which was, unfortunately, true.

Damn it.

* * *

**Author's Note**: Anyone seeking more of my writing should check out 'Borolin' on ffnet - a nick under which my collaborative effort with whitehound, 'Lost and Found' is posted. 


	3. Chapter 3: Hogwarts Express

**Chapter 3: Hogwarts Express**

Hermione felt sick as she stepped through the barrier and onto platform nine and three-quarters. It was hard to tell whether it was nerves or morning sickness, although 'both' was certainly an option. "Is it too late to accidentally miss the train?" she asked wistfully.

"Yes. Come on." Ginny gave her hand a reassuring squeeze. "You'll be fine."

"You look a bit pale, dear," Molly said, giving her a critical look. "Feeling sick at all? Do you have some plain crackers with you?"

Hermione nodded, smiling ruefully. "And a bottle of water and some bags for being sick into. I'm just starting to wish I could keep this a secret. I can't, of course - I'm not going to be able to go to Potions classes at all, and Professor Lupin said I'd have to sit out some of my Defence and Herbology classes. But I do wish I could put off all the funny looks and everything a bit longer."

"I don't blame you," Ginny said, wincing. "You know, you could have handed your badge back when you got there. That way there wouldn't be so many questions on the train."

"That would have just made things harder for the teachers. I'm doing enough of that already." Hermione shook her head. "Might as well get it over."

"Ginny! Hermione!" Harry was leaning out of a carriage and waving. "Come on, we've got a compartment down here!"

Ginny waved back. "We're coming! Make Ron come and help with the trunks!" Ginny had made it clear that she considered her brothers to be useful beasts of burden at best... Fred had been ordered to come along to deal with Hermione's trunk and Ginny's while Ginny supported Hermione. George had been allowed to stay and mind the shop. "Fred, stop ogling the girls and get the trunks over there." Ignoring Fred's mutter, she brightened and waved. "Hi, Neville! Harry's found us a compartment down this way!"

"Thanks, Ginny!" Neville returned her wave, beaming at both of them. "You need a hand with anything?" Fred promptly annexed him to help with the luggage.

"Now, be careful on the stairs, in case you come over dizzy," Molly said sternly, clearly determined to get some extra fussing in. She had been appalled at the idea of Hermione having a baby alone, but supportive anyway. "And don't eat greasy food. It'll make the nausea worse. Rest as much as you can - you'll get tired easily at first."

"I'll be careful," Hermione said, smiling at her. "Madam Pomfrey's given me lots of instructions already, and I have to go and see her every week. It's going to be quite handy, having a nurse on call."

"Oh, that it is, dear... and don't be shy about asking for potions," Mrs Weasley said firmly. "There's only so much that can be done about the nausea, but things like swollen ankles and so on are best treated early."

"I won't be shy," Hermione said, grinning ruefully. "I hate being uncomfortable. I won't be at all brave about it."

"Good. And write and tell me how things are going," Mrs Weasley said, giving her a damp beam. "Ginny, you keep an eye on her and make sure she eats properly."

"I will, Mum." Ginny shook her head, grinning, and gave her a quick hug. "Go say goodbye to Ickle Ronniekins. He looks ready to strangle Fred."

"Oh, dear..." Mrs Weasley bustled away to intervene; Ron had finally realized that he was significantly bigger than the twins and apparently felt the need to redress a lifetime of grievances.

"I wish I had my badge," Hermione said softly. "It's amazing how well you can hide behind a shield that's only half-an-inch square."

"You'll be fine," Ginny said reassuringly, tugging her past the bickering Weasleys and into the train. "Come on, the sooner we're in our compartment, the fewer people you'll have to see."

Hermione followed, not permitting herself even a glance towards the Prefect's carriage. That was firmly in the past. Harry smiled encouragingly at her as she slipped into the compartment, where Neville was tucking Trevor into his pocket with tender care. "Hi, Neville," she said, feeling very fond of him all of a sudden. Neville, at least, wouldn't be judgemental about her pregnancy. "Your arm's all healed up, then?"

"Mostly." He pulled up his sleeve to exhibit his wand arm. The outer side was heavily marked with purple scars, and his smallest finger had lost the top joint, but it looked otherwise intact. "I've lost a bit of feeling, but it still works. Gran had to get me another wand, though."

"It's looking a lot better," Hermione said, smiling. "What did Mr Ollivander say when you came back again so soon?"

"Told me not to be so careless next time," Neville said, grinning sheepishly.

"Yeah, well, next time you have to drop your wand to save my girlfriend, don't let Ollivander stop you," Harry said, pushing Crookshanks' carrier onto one of the racks - the cat was asleep in a ball of orange fur, Hermione finally having given in and cast a mild sleeping charm on him to make the yowling stop. "I'll buy you a dozen wands if you want them."

Ginny, who'd been leaning out of the compartment to look down the hall, suddenly slammed the door and scowled. "Oh, that utter cow!" she muttered, flopping down on the seat next to Hermione.

"Who's a cow?" Harry asked, promptly claiming the seat next to her.

"McGonagall's only given Hermione's badge to Lavender Brown," Ginny said grumpily. "She gave me the worst _smirk_ when she saw me..."

"Wonderful." Of all the people to have it. Hermione scowled, looking out the window. She and Lavender had never gotten along, and after Ron had dumped her, things had gotten extremely uncomfortable in the girl's dormitory.

"I'll hex her bald if she tries anything," Ginny said vindictively. "Or maybe some horribly disfiguring skin disease."

Harry grinned across at Neville. "Isn't she sweet?" he said in an exaggeratedly fatuous tone. "Sweetly and daintily threatening people right and left. I do like a nice, old-fashioned girl."

"I'll give you a nice, old-fashioned thumping if you keep that up," Ginny said reprovingly, looking rather pleased. "Anyway, we don't have to worry about her yet. Is Ron on the train yet?"

"Just heading up to the Prefect's carriage now," Harry said, looking out of the window. "He's not going to be pleased to see her, is he?"

"No, but serve him right for going out with her in the first place," Ginny muttered, giving Hermione's hand a gentle squeeze.

Neville was giving Hermione a puzzled look. "Hermione, why _aren't_ you a Prefect anymore? Are you going to be too busy studying this year?"

"A bit," Hermione said, smiling at him again. Neville really was terribly sweet. "This is going to be a bit of a busy year for me, even without being a Prefect. It's N.E.W.T.s, of course, and... uhm... I'm going to have a baby."

Neville's mouth dropped open. "What, at _school_?"

"Well, she'd hardly miss exams, would she?" Luna said vaguely, having just opened the door. She ambled in, sitting down next to Neville. "Hello, Hermione. Hello, Ginny. Hello, Harry. Hello, Neville."

"Hello, Luna," they chorused, and Hermione grinned, feeling very fond of Luna too. She never seemed shocked by anything. "No, I wouldn't miss exams. I've arranged everything with the teachers already. It should be all right."

"That's all right, then." Luna smiled dreamily at her. "You look a little pale. Do you have morning sickness?"

"I'm not sure. It could just be nerves." Hermione smiled ruefully.

"I've got some crystallised ginger if you want it." Luna had one of her brief practical moments. "It's quite good if you feel sick."

Neville was looking bewildered again. "Uhm... Hermione, if it's not rude..." he said hesitantly, "who's the... you know..." He gave her stomach a meaningful look.

"Nobody," Hermione said firmly. "Nobody relevant, anyway."

Neville blushed. "Oh, I see," he mumbled and retired to his corner hastily.

The train whistled, and Ginny leaned across Harry to wave out of the window. "Bye, Mum!" she shouted, as the train began to move. "Bye, Fred! You tell George to send me those treats for Arnold!"

"Will do," Fred shouted back. "See you at Christmas!"

Hermione leaned back in her seat. Well, she'd told someone - two someones.

Only about seven hundred to go.

She had nearly a whole peaceful hour before Lavender appeared, smirking, with a nervous-looking fifth-year Prefect in tow. "Hi, Harry! Hi, Hermione!" she said sweetly. "How are you?"

"Fine," Harry said, sliding down in his seat slightly. Lavender still made him a little nervous, apparently.

"Quite well, thank you," Hermione said with equal sweetness. "And you? Did you... er... have a good holiday?" While we were risking life and limb to save the wizarding world, you smug little cow...

"Fine, thanks." The sweetness got a little more pointed. "I've been seeing Julian Spragg, he left last year. I was _so_ surprised, though, to get a letter last week saying I would be replacing you as a Prefect! How on earth did you lose your badge?"

"I didn't. I gave it up." Hermione folded her hands primly in her lap. "I'm going to be too busy this year."

"Too _busy_?" Lavender asked disbelievingly. "To be a _Prefect_? Doing _what_?"

"I don't really think that's any of your business," said... of all people... Neville. Everyone looked at him, and he drew himself up, giving Lavender a positively annoyed look. "Don't you have to patrol or something?"

Lavender retreated in some confusion. Neville had never been rude to her before - or to anyone, as far as anybody knew. Hermione smiled, and leaned over to give Neville a quick kiss on the cheek. "Thank you for standing up for me," she said affectionately, as he blushed furiously. "Everyone's going to know soon enough, but I really didn't want to have that particular conversation right now."

Neville mumbled something about wanting to help, and Luna beamed at him. "That was very kind of you," she said seriously. "Lavender doesn't like Hermione at all. I'm sure she would have been very rude."

"Probably." Ginny glanced at Hermione, whose irritation must have been showing because she hastily changed the subject. "I like what you've done with your leg, Luna, is it new?"

Luna pulled up her robes a little, examining the enchanted wooden prosthetic that had replaced her right leg from just above the knee. Originally a fairly ordinary-looking leg and foot, like the limb of a marionette, it had now been painted brilliant purple and ornamented with what looked like glued-on glass beads. "Yes, I redecorated it for school," she said rather proudly. "The blue beads avert the Evil Eye."

It was so typical of Luna that Hermione had to look out of the window for a minute until she got herself under control again. (Pregnancy seemed to be turning her into a positive wellspring of ever-ready tears) So many people had been hurt in the war that it felt horribly normal to be talking about Luna's prosthetic leg, or Neville's scars... and it felt wrong that she'd managed to escape without some obviously visible token of her own.

Escaped the war without one, anyway. The victory celebrations had left a _very_ permanent one. Ironic, that.

Not long after that, Ron ambled into the carriage, flopping into the empty seat next to Luna. "Did you know Lavender is a Prefect now?" he asked the compartment in general. "She got your badge, Hermione."

"We know. She stopped by to gloat," Harry said, looking up from the game of wizard chess that he was playing with Ginny and losing quite badly. "Neville told her to piss off."

Ron gave Neville a startled look. "You never," he said, sounding rather impressed.

"Not exactly," Neville said sheepishly. "I told her it was none of her business why Hermione wasn't a Prefect anymore, and didn't she have to patrol or something."

"He was rude about it, too," Ginny said proudly. "He sounded quite cross."

Ron grinned. "Good for you, Neville." He slouched in his seat. "A lot of people were asking questions," he told Hermione, frowning. "I wasn't sure what to say, so I just said it was your business, and they could ask you if they wanted to know."

Hermione sighed and nodded. "Maybe I should just go find Lavender and tell her," she said wryly. "Then _she_ could tell everyone else on the train."

Ron grinned at her. "It has efficiency to recommend it."

"Hold out as long as you can," Harry said, giving her a pained look. "Trust me. You want to put off all the staring and the questions for as long as possible. After dinner, anyway."

Hermione nodded. She remembered what it had been like after Rita Skeeter's article implying that she was some sort of heart-breaking slut. Now that there was actually a potential truth to the accusation, she wasn't at all keen to see it again. "All right. Luna, would you like to play chess? I've got another set." She saw Ron's expression turn sulky and grinned at him. "And no, you can't play, Ron. You always win... and you're a very bad winner. You gloat."

His pride salved by this praise, Ron settled down to a lengthy discussion of some Quidditch team or other with Neville that lasted until the cart came by. Hermione had packed her own lunch - nutrition was important, in her condition - but as usual, the boys loaded up with goodies.

Hermione sniffed. There was the oddest smell, all of a sudden. It smelled like something _decaying_, almost, and her stomach roiled in protest. "What on earth is that smell?" she asked, looking around.

Ron swallowed his huge mouthful of pumpkin pasty and gave her an inquiring look. "I can't smell anything... unless it's the pasties. You want one? We've got loads..." He held one out.

The sweetish smell of pumpkin, which she'd always quite liked, suddenly seemed to have the horrible force of rotten meat. Hermione clapped a hand over her mouth and bolted from the compartment, trampling several feet in her haste to get away from the horrible smell.

"Hermione, are you all right?" Ginny asked in alarm, following her out of the compartment. "What is it?"

"Sensitivity to smells is normal in the first trimester," Hermione said weakly, dragging in a lungful of the less-tainted air with a gasp of relief. "Apparently pumpkin isn't... oog... going to be my first dining choice for a while."

"Ohhhhh," Ginny said, relaxing. "Oh, I know about that. Mum couldn't bear the smell of raw meat, when she was pregnant, although she still wanted to eat it. She used to make Dad cook it, Bill says, and hide until it was ready."

Hermione nodded. "Makes sense." She leaned against the window, resting a hand on her stomach. "Ugh... I'll be fine, just keep the door shut and make them eat quickly, all right?"

"Stopping Ron from eating quickly would be harder." Ginny nodded, patting Hermione on the shoulder and ducking back into the compartment. "It's the smell of the pasties," she said, and then the door was shut and sound cut off.

Hermione took a few more deep breaths. That was better. The smell was much fainter out here, and diluted with the smells of cauldron cakes and chocolate, which were much pleasanter. Several younger students pushed past, probably in pursuit of the trolley, and Hermione backed up against the wall, smiling as they bobbed past. It was good to be going back to Hogwarts - good that it was _safe_ to go back, especially for the youngest students.

She heard a door open further along the carriage and looked up, to see dark-green robes and a familiar blond head. Draco's hair wasn't as sleek as it had been, cut much shorter than before and ruffled as if he'd run his hand through it more than once. He looked tired, she thought, and unhappy. He looked around and stiffened when their eyes met. "Granger," he said, looking past her. "Where's the rest of the dream team?" "In the compartment," Hermione said, indicating it with a jerk of her head. "I came out for some air."

Draco stepped out of his own compartment, shutting the door behind him, and moved closer - staying prudently away from the compartment's window, she noticed. "No longer a Prefect, I see," he said coolly. "Why?"

"I gave it up. I won't have time this year." Hermione shrugged. "You aren't either, I see."

Draco snorted. "I'm only being allowed to return to the school on sufferance as it is," he said bitterly. "I certainly wouldn't be trusted with any authority."

Hermione frowned. "I suppose I can see why," she said. "But it doesn't seem quite fair."

"I'm a Slytherin," Draco said with a shrug, as if that were all the explanation required. Which it was, really... Slytherin was an unpopular House to be in, at the moment, and those who had been known to support Voldemort least popular of all... even those who had changed sides, apparently.

"You didn't go for a prosthetic, I see," she said, trying to match his coolness as she looked at the half-empty sleeve that hung at his left side. "If you pinned that up, it wouldn't get in the way so much."

Draco looked down at the arm he'd severed at the elbow with his own wand. "I manage," he said, trying to sound indifferent and almost succeeding.

Hermione nodded. "We're actually having an almost civil conversation," she said dryly. "Hell must be freezing over as we speak."

"Probably... hey, watch it, you little shits!" Draco glared as the scampering first-years pushed past on their way back to their compartment.

Two of them had bought pumpkin pasties. One, bitten into and issuing steam, was waved directly under Hermione's nose as they passed.

"Mch!" Hermione clamped her hand over her mouth and bolted for the toilet at the end of the carriage. She made it, but only just, slamming the door but not having time to lock it before dropping to her knees and revisiting her breakfast with some force. Some time later, when it felt like she must have brought up everything but her toenails, the nausea finally abated. She washed her mouth out with water from the tiny sink, flushed a couple of times, and stepped out of the toilet, feeling a bit shaky. To her surprise, Draco was standing there, looking almost concerned. "That didn't sound particularly healthy," he said dryly. "What brought that on?"

"The pasties," she said grimly. Wonderful. Not someone she'd really wanted to tell about this. "The smell of pumpkin apparently sets off the morning sickness."

His pale eyebrows rose. "Morning sickness?" His eyes dropped to her stomach, then flicked back up to her face. "And you're going back to school anyway?"

"I'm certainly not giving up my N.E.W.T.s for a brief lapse in judgement at a victory party," Hermione said tartly. "I already talked to Professor McGonagall. It's all arranged."

"Huh." Draco smirked. "So Saint Granger isn't quite as pure as all that, after all."

"Not quite, no." Hermione glared at him. "So why are you loitering around here, Malfoy? I doubt you were concerned for my welfare."

"No, I was waiting for my turn." Draco smirked again. "I didn't come out of my compartment to talk to you." He slipped past her into the toilet, closing the door firmly in her face.

"Twerp," Hermione muttered, heading back to the compartment. The door was open, and a strong smell of vanilla was drifting down the corridor.

"Well, it doesn't smell like _pumpkin_," Harry was saying doubtfully. "I'm not sure if it's an improvement, though - what if vanilla makes her feel sick, too? It's almost strong enough to make _me_ feel sick."

"It's not too bad, actually," Hermione said, entering the compartment to see that the window was open as well. "What happened?"

"Neville tried to get rid of the pumpkin smell," Luna said peaceably. "It's quite a good spell, isn't it?"

"It does smell nice." Hermione smiled at Neville, who looked very embarrassed, and sat down again. "Thanks, Neville."

"Where'd you go, anyway?" Ron asked curiously. "We looked out and you were gone."

"I had to be sick," Hermione said, shrugging as Ron winced. "According to mum, I'll be doing a fair bit of it for the next month or so."

"Was it talking to Draco Malfoy that made you feel sick?" Luna asked with interest. "I saw him through the window just after you ran off."

Harry frowned. "Malfoy's coming back to school? I thought he was confined to the estate or something."

"No, that was his mother. House arrest." Ginny shrugged. "There was a lot of 'given the current situation' and 'extenuating circumstances' when Malfoy was tried, and he got off with a stern warning not to ever do it again."

"That's it?" Ron made a rude noise. "He was a bloody Death Eater. He let them into Hogwarts, and it was because of him that Professor Dumbledore died even if he didn't actually kill him. They shouldn't have let him come back no matter how much he begged."

Hermione glared at him. "Ron, he not only fought with us at the end, he _cut off his own arm_ to get rid of the Dark Mark," she said reproachfully. "What more do you want?"

"His head on a pike?" Ron said, looking mutinous. "He's still _Malfoy_, even if he chickened out of siding with Voldemort right at the end..."

"He was quite civil when I talked to him... for Malfoy, anyway," Hermione said. "And he's got every right to finish his education, Ron. The Wizengamot found that he'd acted under extreme duress. You can't tell me you wouldn't have at least considered it to save your own mum."

Harry scowled. "I still don't think they should have let him come back to school. He might have helped once he was sure Voldemort would kill him otherwise, but I still don't trust him."

"I think the arm thing was pretty convincing," Neville said quietly. "I mean... he cut it off himself. With his own wand. Could you do that?"

"Well..." Harry was honest enough to look doubtful. A Seeker's arms were his life.

"Did you know Professor Snape is back?" Luna asked brightly, apparently unaware of the quickest way to make Harry explode; or possibly very much aware, you never knew with her. "He's teaching Potions again."

" He's _what_? Oh, bloody hell, I thought we were finally rid of the bloody great bat!"

* * *

"Hi, Hagrid!" Harry waved energetically.

"H'lo, Harry!" Hagrid called back, over the heads of scurrying first-years heading for the boats. "You look af'er Hermione! See you up at the castle!"

"Does he know?" Ron asked, carrying Hermione's things as well as his own with a put-upon expression. Ginny had refused to let Hermione carry anything heavier than Pig.

"About you being... you know."

"Professor McGonagall said she was going to tell all the teachers," Hermione said quietly. She was feeling sick again, and it was definitely nerves this time. "Which means the portraits and the ghosts probably know too, which means the whole school will by tomorrow morning."

"Probably." Harry patted her arm gently. "It's going to be hard, but we'll be here."

"If it gets too bad, I'll arrange for someone to streak the Great Hall," Ginny said, grinning.

"You'll do no such thing!" Ron said, horrified. "Who would you ask, anyway?"

Ginny smirked. "You two, obviously, in masks. Hermione's your best friend, except for each other; you owe it to her to protect her."

"Protect her, yes," Ron muttered. "Strip for her, no."

Hermione allowed Harry to help her into the carriage - he was trying to be solicitous, and it was sweet, even if she really didn't need it yet. "Anyway, Ron couldn't, everyone would know it was him."

"How?" Harry asked, scrambling into the carriage after Ginny.

Hermione grinned rather naughtily as Ron shoved Crookshanks onto her lap and climbed in, closing the door behind him. "The Weasley red hair. Even if his head was covered, it'd be obvious who it was."

Harry choked, and Ron went brilliant puce. "Hermione!" he moaned in anguished tones.

Ginny stared at her. "Hermione Granger, how on earth do you know he has... I thought you hadn't..."

"I said he wasn't the baby's father," Hermione said primly, going a little pink. "I never said we _hadn't_."

The boys were making noises of horrified embarrassment. Ginny ignored them. "But... you're _sure_ he's not..."

"Yes, I'm sure. It was much earlier." Hermione was blushing more now. "And don't try to tell me that you two didn't before we went after that last Horcrux, and we thought we were all going to die."

Ginny went scarlet. "Well... uh... oh, look, we're nearly there!"

Harry and Ron were carefully looking everywhere but at each other. Hermione smiled rather smugly. She'd been sure Harry and Ginny not only had but had continued to do so. Ron would be bound to find out sooner or later, and he was far more protective of Ginny's virtue than any mere brother ought to be. Now Harry could counter with the state of Hermione's own virtue, if it came to an argument, which should shut Ron up nicely. Besides, the opportunity had been much too funny to resist.

* * *

By the time she sat down at the Gryffindor table, Hermione was shaking with nerves. Professor Snape was sitting up at the teachers' table... at least, she assumed he was, from the filthy looks Harry was directing at it. She hadn't dared to look. How could she face him? She knew she should drop Potions, and had tentatively suggested as much in her last letter to Professor McGonagall. The Headmistress had sent back such a firm negative that Hermione hadn't dared to bring it up again, and she suspected that Professor Snape had gotten the same response when he'd tried to kick her out of the class as she was sure he would have. She really should try again, though

But it was one of her favourites, especially now that Harry couldn't cheat anymore. If she didn't pass her Potions N.E.W.T., she wouldn't be able to work in the field, and she loved the mystery and the science of it. And it might look suspicious... the last thing she wanted was to hurt him all over again.

She was grateful for the distraction when the doors opened and the usual troop of first-years trotted in, following Professor Sprout like a troop of flapping black ducklings. She herded them up to the stool where the Sorting Hat was waiting, and everyone looked at it expectantly.

The Hat was silent for an uncharacteristically long moment, then the rip near the brim opened.

_One thousand years and more ago, _

_The Sorting first was held, _

_When Hogwarts stood united, _

_And the Founders did as well. _

_The Houses tend to squabble now, _

_And it's a dreadful shame, _

_For it would grieve the Founders, _

_Who gave your Houses' name. _

_So be brave and venturesome, _

_Even if you're not in Gryffindor, _

_Strive for wisdom and for learning, _

_Though you're not a Ravenclaw, _

_Ambition and quick thinking, _

_Need not be in Slytherin, _

_And a loyal and a loving heart, _

_House Hufflepuff may not win. _

_Take care of one another, _

_We've all been through a lot, _

_And in your hands and minds and hearts, _

_Is all the future that we've got._

"Blimey," Ron whispered. "Remember when we were kids and the Hat used to be cheerful?"

"I think losing Professor Dumbledore must have really upset it," Hermione said anxiously. "It's been getting more and more pointed about inter-house unity, too, the last few years."

"Fat chance," Harry muttered, trading glares with Draco Malfoy. Hermione wasn't sure he even noticed that Draco was sitting in a small empty space, none of his fellow Slytherins seeming to want to be associated with him.

"Oh, stop it, Harry," she said in disgust, turning back to the Sorting. The first-years looked rather overawed and filed up in terrified silence when Professor Sprout read their names. "Bainbridge, Morgana" became the first Slytherin, and Hermione elbowed Ron hard in the ribs when he started to hiss. He subsided, giving her a resentful look, as the Slytherins applauded politely.

Without meaning to, she looked up at the teacher's table, to find Professor Snape's dark eyes fixed on her. She blushed, looking down at the table, then looked up to applaud "Canus, Ceridwen" when she became the first new Gryffindor.

She was grateful when the Sorting was over, and she could focus on the feast, even if the flood of smells was a little overwhelming. Her stomach had settled a bit, and she managed a fairly decent meal, although the desserts were much less tempting than usual. She made do with a jam tart, more to have something to do than to eat, because she was sure she'd felt the weight of eyes on her more than once, and couldn't bring herself to look up at the teachers' table again while any other distraction remained.

She had intended to pay close attention to Professor McGonagall's rather terse speech of greeting but found her eyes wandering along the teachers' table instead. It seemed extraordinary that almost all the same faces should be there...Hagrid gave her a surreptitious wave when their eyes met, and Remus Lupin was looking at her a little anxiously - she hoped he wasn't disappointed in her. The Heads of House flanked the Headmistress's seat; Professor Flitwick, looking very old now, was sitting beside Professor Sprout, who was fiddling with her wineglass. On the other side of the Headmistress's chair, the newly appointed Head of Gryffindor was looking around with her usual calm, slightly sleepy expression as Professor McGonagall announced her appointment to a ripple of startled whispers; very few students knew Professor Sinistra well, and nobody had known that the imperturbable Astronomy teacher had once been a Gryffindor.

Hermione doubted that anyone else knew the reason Professor Snape had been made head of House Slytherin at twenty-four was that he had been the only former Slytherin on staff after Slughorn and Pinsworthy retired, and that twice in the past new staff had had to be hired on the basis of House affiliation, lest a House be left Headless. Some people would just never bestir themselves to read _Hogwarts: A History_.

Beside Sinistra, Professor Snape sat looking down at his plate, twirling his knife between restless fingers. He looked tired, Hermione thought guiltily... her revelation had surely helped to rob him of his sleep. Her presence would surely only make things worse. She would ask him at the first opportunity - if he wanted her to give up Potions, she would somehow convince Professor McGonagall to let her.

"Hey, look!" Harry pointed, smiling suddenly, as a ghost drifted through the large doors, looking around at the gathered students affectionately. "I didn't know he was staying at the school."

Hermione gave the ghost of Albus Dumbledore a little wave, which he returned. "Where else would he go? Nobody could get him away from the school while he was alive, why would he leave now?"

* * *

**Author's Note**: I would like to again thank my betas for all their hard work on Accountable. Harmony, especially, has worked extremely hard to make the story the best it can be, almost from the beginning. Whitehound and Bambu have also offered invaluable support and advice, and for that I thank them.

I appreciate all my reviews, anonymous and otherwise. However, for anyone wishing to criticize my choice of theme, announce their disappointment in my moral character, or attempt to browbeat me into rewriting the story to fit their own personal moral code, I would appreciate being given a means of response that does not force every other reader to endure the discussion as well. My email address is elidyce at gmail com .


	4. Chapter 4: Discussion

**Chapter 4: Discussion**

The ghosts and the portraits, at the very least, definitely knew about her pregnancy. Nearly Headless Nick hovered protectively all the way up to Gryffindor Tower, assuring her that all the ghosts had been warned not to go through her, just in case. The portraits watched her curiously, and the young woman holding a baby on the third floor gave her a little wave and an encouraging nod.

"I feel like I've escaped from a zoo or something," Hermione muttered to Ginny. "Everyone's staring."

Which was true. Evidently rumours were spreading - a lot of students were staring as well, although some of that could be because of the loss of her badge. Hermione had deliberately lagged behind the rest of Gryffindor as they trooped upstairs - Lavender would get a chance to smirk at her soon enough - but that just meant Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw got more staring-time.

"Well, you have to expect that." Ginny was matter-of-fact. "You _are_ a genuine war heroine, remember? Faced Voldemort himself? That alone would get you staring - it's certainly working for Ron," she said, giving her brother a disgusted look as he marched up the stairs with a poorly concealed strut.

Hermione, who hadn't thought of that explanation at all, blushed. "Well, now I feel silly... you're right, that's probably it."

"You've certainly made Gryffindor very proud," Nick said, drifting along on her other side. "Oh, excuse me, I must just have a word with the Grey Lady... she's taken rather an interest, and she'll be glad to hear that you're doing well."

Ginny shook her head, watching Nick head straight through a gaggle of second-years - literally - to greet Ravenclaw's ghost. "I'm surprised he's not raving about wandpoint weddings and threatening to duel the scoundrel who tarnished your honour," she said, with some amusement. "That's how it was done in his day."

"Fred and George already offered," Hermione said, grinning. "It was rather sweet, actually, they got quite angry on my behalf. And offered me a job, if I wanted one, helping them with research and development when I finish my N.E.W.T.s."

"Really?" Ginny looked impressed. "That was unusually nice of them."

"If they had a staff-member with a Potions N.E.W.T., they wouldn't have to jump through so many Ministry hoops on quality control when they make something new," Hermione pointed out dryly. "Although they don't think I know that."

Ginny laughed. "Now that sounds like them... nice, but nice for them as well."

"Very. I'll think about it, though... I'll need to find something quickly, and at least the twins wouldn't mind if I kept the baby with me while I was working." Hermione patted her stomach gently. "It's still a little hard to take in, sometimes."

"You're going to do fine," Ginny said reassuringly. "You've already got your timetable drawn up and plans made, right?"

Hermione blinked at her. "How'd you know?"

"Because I know you. And - oh, hello, Professor." Ginny smiled brightly as Albus Dumbledore drifted through a wall not far from the Fat Lady's portrait. "It's good to have you back."

"And it is good to be back, Miss Weasley, even in my current form," Albus said cheerfully. "If you wouldn't mind, I would like a quick word with Miss Granger before she goes to her well-earned rest."

"Of course." Ginny nodded. "I'll let the boys know you're in safe hands, Hermione. See you in a bit."

Hermione nodded, and Ginny bounced away, her long ponytail swinging. "They've been hovering a bit," she said, as Dumbledore quirked a bushy eyebrow at her. "The boys, I mean. It's quite sweet."

"I'm sure it is." Death and silvery transparence hadn't lessened the intensity of the former Headmaster's gaze. "This is the first time since your first year, Miss Granger, that you haven't seemed enthusiastic about the beginning of the school year."

"I am, really," Hermione said, looking down at her toes. She should really enjoy them while she could still see them. "I'm just... nervous. More nervous than I was about Voldemort, actually, although that probably seems strange."

"Not at all. The former Tom Riddle was a problem on a very large scale... one you were not expected to cope with at all, much less all alone," Dumbledore said, giving her an understanding smile. "Carrying a child to term the same year as you sit your N.E.W.T.s is something that nobody can do for you, and although your friends will help as much as they can, the onus is ultimately on you. It's quite different."

"That's exactly it," Hermione said, smiling at him. "This is... not something Ron and Harry can help me with, or something I can hand over to a teacher if it gets too much. And... there's going to be gossip and rumours; and I know Harry's used to that sort of thing, but I'm not, not really. I keep telling myself that it doesn't matter and that I don't care what people think of me, but sometimes I don't believe me."

Dumbledore laughed softly, and gave her a warm smile. "Miss Granger, in your young life, you have faced battles which most grown wizards would flee in terror; you have faced Voldemort himself; you have earned ten 'Outstanding' Owls, one of only four students to do so in the last twenty years; you have organised a secret society which you managed to conceal even from me, at least for a time... and, assuredly not the least of your achievements, you have managed to force both Mr Potter and Mr Weasley to keep up with their schoolwork. I have no doubt that you will perform as excellently as a mother as you have as a student." He patted her hand with icy, insubstantial fingers. "You have achieved a great deal in a very short period of time, and you should be proud. And if the gossip does bother you, recall that Harry was rumoured to be a delusional attention-seeker and I to be a senile old dingbat - rumours no more truthful than what may be said about you."

Hermione blushed happily, looking at her toes again. "Thank you, sir," she said softly. "That helps, it really does."

"Good." The faintly echoing ghost-voice still managed to sound concerned. "Forgive me for prying, Miss Granger, but - "

"Who is the baby's father?" she asked, meeting his eyes. He inclined his head in agreement, and she smiled wryly. "That's the question everyone asks. But it's not going to be answered, Professor, not even to you."

"That is, of course, your decision," the former Headmaster said, smiling at her. "But please remember that I will be willing to listen at any time, should you need a confidential ear."

"I'll remember, sir. Thank you." He nodded and drifted away, and she headed for the Fat Lady. "Water-lily," she said to the portrait, smiling up at her. The Fat Lady sniffed disdainfully and swung open, not deigning to look Hermione in the eye.

She'd expected that, she reminded herself, although perhaps not from Gryffindor's own portrait. Some of them were very old - they'd think being an unmarried mother was shameful. One couldn't expect too much in the way of modern thinking from a painting. She climbed through the portrait-hole and into the blissfully crowded, noisy common room.

"Hermione!" Solomon Pinsworthy scampered over to her. "Is it true that you're not a Prefect anymore?"

"Afraid so," Hermione said sympathetically. Solomon was in second year, and he'd had several bad bouts of homesickness last year. For a while he'd been following her around like a lost puppy, but he'd gotten used to school eventually. "But you're going to be quite all right this year, so it won't really matter. And you can still talk to me if you need to."

"I suppose. You were good, though," Solomon said wistfully, before being absorbed back into a cluster of his classmates.

That vote of confidence gave her a definite boost, and she headed towards Harry and the others, who had laid claim to a table in the corner. She made it nearly halfway across the room when the inevitable happened. "Hey, Granger!" It was Jack Sloper... she vaguely recalled him being on the Quidditch team at some point. "Is it true you're up the duff?"

The common room went silent as abruptly as if he had flicked a switch, and every eye was suddenly fixed on her.

Hermione saw Harry's head come up, and Ron's fists clench. They would defend her, if she wanted them to, and that was nice to know, but she forced herself to turn, giving Sloper a calmly disdainful look. "Yes," she said simply. "Although I'm not sure, precisely, what makes that any of your business." A scraping sound probably indicated that Harry or Ron - most likely Ron - had stood up and was trying to look menacing.

The silence dissolved into an excited babble of high-speed gossip, but Hermione ignored it, glaring at the cause of the trouble. Sloper, not being a complete idiot, clamped his mouth shut and tried to look small and harmless. "Jus' wondered," he mumbled, trying to sidle behind one of his friends, who didn't look at all keen to protect him.

"Well, now you know," Hermione said coolly. She turned on her heel and smiled brightly at Ron and Harry, who were both on their feet. "I'm going to get an early night," she said, not bothering to try to sound casual or convincing. "Morning sickness takes it out of you a bit."

"Sleep well, Hermione," Harry said, equally matter-of-fact. "We'll see you in the morning, if you're up to breakfast."

"Thanks, Harry." Hermione smiled gratefully at him and the others. Ginny seemed to be restraining Ron in some way... one of his arms was twisted behind him, anyway. She gave Hermione an encouraging smile and a little wave with her free hand.

Nodding, Hermione headed for the stairs, keeping her back straight and her face expressionless. Halfway up she paused, waiting. Any moment now...

"It is _not_ mine!" Ron's wrathful voice was instantly recognisable. "Or Harry's! And it's none of your bloody business, Seamus!"

Hermione shook her head, smiling ruefully. Ron exploding was like the sun rising... it happened earlier or later at different times, but it was inevitable in the long run. Maybe it was a big family thing... all the Weasleys tended to lose their tempers at full volume.

She headed for the familiar dormitory, and the lovely warm, welcoming bed. She was alone long enough to go through the familiar night-time rituals... putting out robes for tomorrow, with clean socks and clean underwear, brushing her teeth and her hair, checking on Crookshanks (gone, probably to try to re-establish dominance over Mrs Norris) and finding a book to read in bed.

_Not_ a book about babies, pregnancy, or anything similar. A nice, reliable Muggle text on chemistry.

She was reading when Lavender and Parvati came in, which was useful, as she could ignore them without being pointed about it. She didn't want to have to talk to either of them just now.

They whispered their way through getting ready for bed, glancing at her surreptitiously now and then. Eventually, Lavender seemed to have worked up the nerve to speak, as she plaited her hair with an exaggeratedly casual air. "So... er... Hermione..." Hermione lowered her book and was startled by the malicious look on Lavender's face. They'd never gotten along, but neither had they actively disliked each other - until the Thing with Ron. "Do you know who the father is?"

Hermione sat bolt upright, dropping her book and glaring. Lavender had the grace to blush, but she didn't look away. "Of course I bloody know who the father is!" she snarled. "I'm in no doubt whatsoever as to who the father is!"

"So who is it?" Parvati asked inquisitively. "Ron and Harry said it wasn't them, but they wouldn't say who it was."

"It wasn't them, and they don't know who it was because I haven't told them," Hermione said primly. "I'm going to be a single mother."

"You're not going to get married?" Parvati squeaked, looking as horrified as if Hermione had announced that she planned to start breakfasting on live kittens.

"Certainly not just because I happen to be pregnant," Hermione said, with a disparaging sniff. "This isn't the Dark Ages." Although it might as well be, at Hogwarts.

"But..." Parvati was clearly having serious trouble with this idea. "But what did your parents say?"

"That they're glad I lived long enough to _get_ pregnant, what with the War and all, and that I can live at home until I find a job, after N.E.W.T.s." Hermione shrugged. "Why, what would yours say?"

Parvati shuddered. "_Avada Kedavra_, probably," she said, and she didn't sound as if she were joking.

"There _are_ potions you can take," Lavender said, giving Hermione a you-idiot sort of look. "I mean, if he's not going to be around, and you have exams..."

Parvati looked at Lavender as if she'd suggested something obscene. "She wouldn't!" she said, sounding horrified. "Not to her own baby!"

"No, I wouldn't, as it happens," Hermione said. "I'm in favour of the potions as a generally available option -" she got her own share of the you-monster look from Parvati "- but they're not for me. Goodnight, Lavender. Goodnight, Parvati." She put her book on the table beside her bed, blew out her candle and firmly turned her back to both of them.

She fell asleep before they could start whispering.

* * *

Severus had watched her through most of dinner.

He wasn't sure what he'd expected, although being hexed by Harry Potter the moment the boy entered the hall had seemed the likeliest option. At the very least, he'd anticipated filthy looks from her friends as she endured her martyrdom at his greasy hands.

Instead, they'd walked into the Hall flanking her like knights of old, Ginny Weasley just ahead of them, walking with a militant stride that hinted that she would do violence to anyone who tried to hinder her. They'd headed straight for the Gryffindor table, none of them looking at the teachers' table except to wave to Hagrid.

Granger looked nervous and paler than usual. She sat quietly through the Sorting, elbowing Weasley when he attempted to intimidate a new Slytherin first-year. And then she looked up at him and he looked away, not wanting to seem to approve her for an act of simple decency.

He kept finding his eyes wandering back to her, though. She picked at her food and played absently with her dessert instead of eating it. (The misleadingly-named morning sickness? She was far enough along for it if he remembered right.) She looked tired, lacking her usual bright enthusiasm for a new year full of fresh and exciting homework.

It was a relief when dinner ended, and he could follow his Slytherins down into the cool peace of the dungeons. He'd missed them more than he'd expected to. It felt good to be... not home, exactly. In refuge, perhaps.

"Professor Snape?"

He would have snarled at anyone else to go away. For Draco, he stopped and turned, looking his godson over. Draco was thinner and even paler than usual, but he was standing straight, his eyes meeting his godfather's fearlessly for the first time in his life. Turning his coat had served Draco well, overall, even taking into account the half-empty sleeve hanging at his left side. "What is it, Draco?"

Draco cocked his head, a crooked smile quirking his lips. His Aunt Andromeda's oddly charming smile; the only way he resembled her. "You look like shit," he said softly. "So do I, of course, but I thought you'd been sleeping more lately."

"The advent of the school year has brought us both a few sleepless nights, I imagine," Severus said, returning the smile with a small, thin one of his own. "You still refuse to have a prosthetic fitted?"

Draco nodded. "It was... a sacrifice," he said quietly, touching his left arm where it ended, just below the joint of the elbow. "A small price to pay for my soul, overall."

"I see." It was foolish and superstitious, but that was pure-bloods for you. "You won't be able to continue your study of Potions without it. You know that."

"Yes, I know." Draco looked... calm. Almost serene. It was a bit disturbing. "I'll miss it, a bit, but I'll live. Do you know, Charms was always my favourite subject? Didn't do to say so, of course."

"Of course." Severus nodded. Lucius had not had a high opinion of Charms. "I shall endeavour to forgive you for abandoning me to the mercy of Potter and Weasley undistracted."

Draco laughed at that. "You're losing Granger as well, aren't you?"

Severus would have started, if years as a spy hadn't destroyed that particular urge. "What do you mean?"

"I bumped into her on the train. Well, she charged past me in order to beat me to the toilet. Morning sickness, she said. Given the risks in Potions, especially if someone makes a mistake, I assumed she'd be dropping the subject."

"That would have been preferable, yes." Severus scowled. Secrecy would have been even _more_ preferable, if impossible. "However, Professor McGonagall has ordered me to allow her to complete the written work while she is pregnant and to go through as many of the potions as are feasible with her after she gives birth. Apparently suggesting that she sacrifice one of seven potential N.E.W.T.s for the sake of her child's health is simply asking too much of the wretched girl."

Draco shook his head. "When she's one of McGonagall's precious darlings, of course it is." He seemed to consider it. "At least she'll do the work. She won't expect you to just pass everything because she's going to be a mummy."

She'd better bloody well not. And she wouldn't, he knew that... Granger, for all her academic flaws, wasn't lazy. "True. I shudder to think what special treatment Weasley would demand, were he capable of falling pregnant."

"I'd have to throw him down a flight of stairs for the sake of all wizard-kind." Draco shook his head, and in a rare moment of affection, reached out to touch his godfather's shoulder gently. "Get some sleep." He slipped past, his pale hair shining in the darkness of the corridor, and then he was gone.

She'd told _Draco_. Of all people. Draco hadn't insulted her once, either, which meant she'd made some sort of favourable impression... and it hadn't been 'I gave your Head of House a good time' because that would certainly have merited a comment.

Potter had barely looked at him all through dinner, which meant he didn't know either. And Minerva had been quite firm when she'd said that the Granger girl had refused to name the baby's father. Well. Maybe he was going to get out of this relatively unscathed after all... one year, minimal contact thanks to the limited Potions classes, and then he need never see the wretched girl or the child again.

Feeling slightly cheered, he headed for bed.

* * *

"Hermione, are you going to be in there all morning?"

Lavender sounded annoyed. Screw her, then, Hermione thought, and was sick again. She should have listened to Molly Weasley and put the crackers next to her bed. And a drink of water, too.

"Hermione, it's nearly time for breakfast," Parvati called.

"Don't talk about breakfast!" Hermione managed between heaves. "And go away!"

"Hermione, we need to - "

"You need to go to one of the other dorms and use their toilet, is what you need to!" Hermione snarled. "I'll have the remedies handy tomorrow so this doesn't happen again, but it's too late now, so push off!"

The nerves were definitely contributing to the throwing up. It'd never been this bad before, but this morning she'd woken up with a horrible feeling of impending doom which was apparently sitting on her stomach like a vomit-inducing lead weight. She ignored the grumbling as Parvati and Lavender got themselves together and left. Served them right for being cheeky last night.

"Hermione?"

"Ginny? What're you doing in our dormitory?" Everything seemed to be up now, and she risked flushing and moving away from the toilet long enough to wash her mouth out in the small hand-basin.

"Checking to see if you were all right. Parvati Patil said it sounded like you were throwing up everything you'd ever eaten," Ginny said through the door. "Nerves or morning sickness?"

"Bit of both. What was it like down in the common-room after I left?" Hermione decided it was safe to risk brushing her teeth and began to do so.

"Last night? The usual - wild speculation, flights of fancy and a general desire to watch the train-wreck as closely as possible. You know how it usually is with Harry? Like that, but with sex, so it was more interesting." Ginny knew Hermione well enough to know that honesty would be appreciated more than tact, it seemed.

"Tell Harry to enjoy being out of the limelight while it lasts," Hermione said, after she'd rinsed. At least her purgatory was going to take some of the pressure off Harry. That was something.

"Any time you need a diversion, I'll drop a hint that I've seen him naked," Ginny offered, sniggering a bit as Hermione opened the door and wobbled out. "Trust me, the mere hint that he's anatomically correct should divert all female attention from you."

Hermione laughed weakly. "Yeah, well, there is that... thanks, Ginny. I mean it." The nervous lead weight was gone, and with it a lot of the nausea. "I think I can face breakfast now... some dry toast, maybe. Or fruit. Please don't let anyone get near me with pumpkin juice."

"I'll do my best." Ginny patted her shoulder. "You look horrible, you know... all washed out. Did you sleep all right?"

"Fine... except I kept having weird dreams." Hermione shook her head. "Not bad, just... weird. There was this one where I'd had the baby, and people kept dressing it up while my back was turned. It came as a real shock to turn around and see it wearing a green bowler hat like the one Fudge used to wear. And the Professor Dumbledore costume I'll leave to your imagination, but it included a beard. A real one."

"Now that sounds scary." Ginny shuddered. "Come on, let's get you some weak tea and toast."

"Tea and toast sounds nice," Hermione said hopefully.

The staring and murmuring were much more pronounced this morning - apparently word had gotten around. Some people looked shocked or disdainful, others sympathetic, but most just looked curious. Hermione kept her head high and ignored them as Ginny led her to the more sparsely populated end of the table farthest from the door and closest to the teachers.

She thought she sensed cold black eyes boring into the back of her neck as she sat down. She ignored them.

"Want me to move the pumpkin juice?" Ron asked, picking up the jug and giving her a worried look.

Hermione sniffed. "It's not too bad, actually... it smells much worse when it's cooked," she said, more than a little relieved. "Just don't actually get it near me, and it'll be all right." She reached for the toast. "Word seems to have gotten around, doesn't it?"

"Harry and I will hex anyone who's rude to you," Ron said, looking around with a scowl. "Or punch them. Whichever you like."

"You can't punch or hex the whole school, Ron," Harry said wearily. "I know it's horrible, Hermione, but you do get used to it, I promise. And they'll lose interest sooner or later."

"I hope so." Hermione nibbled on her toast, more because Mrs Weasley had promised that having something in her stomach would help the nausea than because she wanted it. "That stripping idea is starting to sound more appealing, though."

"No," Harry said very firmly. "I love you, Hermione, but no." Then he blushed, realizing what he'd said.

"Oh..." Hermione's lip trembled, and she leaned over to hug him tightly. "I love you, too," she said, sniffling a bit.

Ron looked at them, and then at Ginny. "Doesn't it bother you that he just said that?" he asked curiously.

"No, of course not." Ginny rolled her eyes at him. "That'd be like him getting jealous if I said I loved _you_. Hermione's family."

"I s'pose." Ron shrugged and dived back into his breakfast. "Hey, you think we'll get some sort of extra credit in Defence for foiling Voldemort? We should."

"It doesn't count if you do it in the holidays, Ron," Hermione said firmly, wiping her eyes quickly and releasing Harry, who was looking both embarrassed and pleased. "Anyway, I'd be more worried about Transfiguration if I was you, you two haven't practiced at all."

* * *

Severus had watched her come into the Hall, of course, late and looking pale and drawn. It was ridiculous; he really couldn't care less if her ill-advised pregnancy interfered with her breakfast, but still he noticed that she ate only dry toast and drank tea diluted to a pale beige with milk.

When she leaned over to embrace Harry Potter, he focused on his own breakfast and refused to look again.


	5. Chapter 5: Doing the Research

A/N: I'm sorry this chapter is late - the last few days of November are crazy, for those of us who do National Novel Writing Month, and I just completely forgot to post Tuesday's chapter. So here it is, and Saturday's will be up later today or tomorrow.

**Chapter 5: Doing The Research**

The first two weeks of school had never seemed longer. At least the questions about 'when' and 'who' were starting to die down now. (It was possible that threatening to hex an impertinent Ravenclaw's ears off had had something to do with it.) Hermione was actually starting to enjoy classes again, especially Arithmancy and Runes, in which only the occasional twinge of nausea reminded her about the baby at all.

Hermione leaned back, frowning at her Potions essay. She'd worked hard over it - carefully pruning it to exactly the two feet specified, researching the subject meticulously, staying exactly on topic all the way through and writing it especially neatly. It was the first one, and she wanted to demonstrate her willingness to work hard and her desire to make this as easy for him as possible.

She'd approached him on their first day to tentatively suggest giving up the class. He'd asserted that he'd like nothing more, but that Professor McGonagall had insisted, and had then slammed his office door in her face. She couldn't blame him for not wanting to have to teach her now, but his reaction had hurt a little all the same.

She rolled up the scroll, sealing it with a tap of her wand so that only the intended recipient would be able to open it. She didn't entirely trust Ron not to peek into it before handing it over since she knew quite well he hadn't done his essay yet. "Ron? Will you give this to Professor Snape tomorrow?"

Ron accepted the sealed scroll, tried to peek into it - he was so predictable - then sighed and shoved it into his bag. "You really are mental, Hermione, it's not even due until Thursday." "I know, but it's _done_, so I might as well get it out of the way." Hermione pulled her Ancient Runes textbook out of the stack beside her and flipped through to the pink paper bookmark that indicated 'today's reading'. (Blue was for 'needs review', yellow was 'current essay', and red was 'likely to be on the exam'.) Instead of studying, though, she found herself staring blankly at the paper as she thought about the mystery-wrapped-in-a-temper that was the Potions master. She didn't know much _about_ him, really... she'd found what information there was about Eileen Prince, of course, which had at least given her warning that poor eyesight ran in the Prince family, and she'd have to look out for it. Other than that, though, what she knew about Snape was limited more or less to 'Potions teacher, spy, incredibly brave, horrible temper, sarcastic wit, smarter than me'. The odds were therefore good that her baby would be intelligent and have problem hair, with an even chance of needing glasses, but that wasn't really a lot to go on. "Harry?"

"Mm?" Harry was working on his Transfiguration homework, his hair ruffled up more than ever from being clutched at in frustration. "What?"

"Do you still have that Potions textbook?"

He blinked, looking up. There was no need to specify which one. "No. It's still in the Room of Requirement, I suppose, wherever that is when nobody's in there. It can stay there forever as far as I'm concerned. Snape hasn't said anything about it."

"Snape doesn't talk to Harry at all if he can help it," Ron said, frowning. "Loads of filthy looks, though."

Hermione nodded. "Could you get it for me?" she asked tentatively.

Both boys stared at her. "Hermione, you always hated that book," Ron said disbelievingly. "You wanted Harry to get rid of it, right from the beginning. Why do you want it now?"

'Because I want to know more about my baby's father' would not be a good answer. At all. "Because I'm curious," she said, keeping her voice as casual as possible. "Anyway, I can't go to classes for most of this year, if I don't do _something_, I'll fail my N.E.W.T. for certain."

"Well..." Harry frowned reluctantly. "I don't think it's a good idea, Hermione, you said yourself that some of the stuff in there was a bit... nasty."

"I'm not interested in the little jinxes in the margins, Harry," Hermione said reproachfully. "It's the actual potion notations I want to read, you know, the ones you only took any interest in if they helped you cheat in class..."

"Oh, don't start that again." Harry scowled. "All right, all right, I'll get you the book if you want it. When I've got time. Right now, though, can you explain this bit again? I don't have a clue what McGonagall means about fundamental states of being..."

* * *

It took two days, but eventually a slightly battered-looking book was dropped in front of Hermione. "Do whatever you want with it," Harry muttered, turning away. "Burn it, whatever, I don't care."

Harry had never forgiven the Half-Blood Prince for turning out to be Professor Snape. Even the ghost of Albus Dumbledore testifying that he had ordered Professor Snape to kill him, that he was completely loyal to the Order, and so on, had not changed Harry's opinion of the Potions Master. He'd simply downgraded slightly from 'Death Eater, I always knew it' to 'slimy coward who made sure he'd come out all right no matter who won'.

In Harry's defence, it _was_ mutual.

Hermione opened the book gently, smoothing the page marked with cramped handwriting, so different from the spiky, elegant scrawl that Severus Snape used as an adult. Changing your handwriting style was difficult; he must have worked hard at it... and that, in itself, was an insight into the way the man worked. He'd deliberately discarded that semi-legible, tiny writing for something more... dignified? Adult? Slytherin? Interesting.

Harry, she was quite sure, had flicked through, looking for anything interesting in the margins while ignoring the painstaking corrections and emendations to the text itself. Hermione tucked a piece of parchment under her elbow and made sure her quill was sharpened, in case notes needed to be made, and started at the first page.

An hour later she'd completely forgotten about learning about Snape, being far too absorbed by learning about Advanced Potions. And she'd had to find more parchment for her notes.

* * *

Severus glared at the inoffensive parchment spread out before him. Hermione Granger had completed her essay two days before it was required. It was precisely two feet long, neither more nor less. Her research was perfect, her logic was flawless and her handwriting was even clearer than usual.

He hated it.

If it had been below her usual standard, he could have told Minerva that she wasn't keeping up. If it had _been_ her usual standard, he could at least have picked at every flaw until it gaped wide, justifying the low mark he wanted to give her. But the damn thing was very nearly perfect. Aside from the usual complete lack of original thinking, but there wasn't a lot of that required in an essay on the uses of foxglove. He was going to have to give her a good mark, damn it.

He scrawled an especially spiky E at the top of the parchment and rolled it up.

Then he unrolled it again. It _was_ lacking in original thinking. All Miss Granger's work was, including her answers in class. They were either quotations or careful paraphrases from assorted textbooks. Nor was it only Potions that seemed to fail to stimulate any enthusiasm - her work in Defence Against the Dark Arts had been exactly the same, although somewhat below her usual standard in Potions.

But Hermione Granger wasn't _incapable_ of original thought, nor of problem solving without help. She had solved his logic-puzzle in minutes, in her first year, and that puzzle had required not only the following of instructions, but also the ability to reason out what was missing from the shape of what was present. And she'd only been twelve then. At thirteen, she'd made an intuitive leap and deduced the presence of a Basilisk when even her teachers had failed to realise the obvious (although she had had information from Potter that they had not).

He'd never given her much thought before. At first she'd been only Potter's annoying, quotation-spouting friend, and later just a competent healer and moderately capable fighter during the war. It had never occurred to him to wonder why the wretched girl lacked a creative spark, although he'd tried often enough to prod her into showing one. But now that she was preying on his mind for reasons quite unrelated to her schoolwork the question had finally presented itself - why would a gifted and intelligent student deliberately fail to apply her creative abilities to her schoolwork?

Frowning thoughtfully, he reached for a blank sheet of parchment, preparing to take notes. Her essays had been returned, of course, but copies of her exams - including her O.W.L. results for Potions - had been put in his records along with everyone else's. Perhaps if he examined her work with more attention than he'd previously paid it, he'd find some sort of explanation...

Two hours later he was hopelessly behind on his marking and growing increasingly frustrated. The pattern was growing more and more apparent, but he couldn't for the life of him work out why the girl was intellectually hamstringing herself. And he needed more blank parchment for his notes.

* * *

"I think she's definitely settling back down," Remus Lupin said hopefully, pouring himself another cup of tea. He'd been worrying a lot about Hermione, and had been watching anxiously for signs of improvement. "There's a lot of talk among the students, obviously; there's no avoiding that, and she was a bit nervy for a while, but..."

"She was positively peaky," Pomona said, taking another biscuit. "Some of it can be blamed on the pregnancy, of course - plays merry hell with the emotions."

"She has seemed rather better the last few days," Filius said, leaning back in his chair. "Brighter. More herself."

Saturday afternoons were a pleasant time in the Hogwarts staff room... there was nothing to do that couldn't wait for Sunday, unless there were detentions to supervise, and it gave everyone a chance to catch up on what was going on with the students. Since the beginning of term, Hermione Granger had been a primary topic of conversation.

"Does anyone know why?" Hooch asked cheerfully, helping herself to the biscuits. "Father showing signs of relenting, maybe? Doing the right thing?"

"According to Harry, she's got some sort of research project going on," Remus said, smiling rather fondly. "Up until now, she's had to spend quite a lot of her time doing things for him... finding out about Basilisks and Nicolas Flamel and Horcruxes and so on. It must be nice for her to have time for her own research."

"Girl spends too much time reading," Hooch said firmly. (Everyone called Hooch by her surname. There were rumours that her _mother_ called her by her surname.) "She needs more exercise, especially in her condition."

"I think running up and down stairs to all her classes is probably all the exercise she can _take_, in her condition," Pomona said. "It's easy for you, Hooch, most of your classes are outside. Do you have any idea how _far_ it is to the Arithmancy classroom from the Entrance Hall?"

"None at all," Hooch said. "Dreadful subject. No offence, Septima."

"None taken," Septima Vector said, looking amused. "Remus, what exactly is she studying? I know she's mentioned taking her studies of Arithmancy further, but I think she would have come to me for advice if that was it."

"I'm not sure. Harry didn't say." Remus sipped his tea. "I imagine Madam Pince would know... apparently Hermione's spending a lot of time in the library." And a Hermione buried to her eyebrows in books and parchment was a happy Hermione, so he could stop worrying quite so much.

* * *

"Hermione?"

"Go away."

"It's a lovely day outside."

"It's a lovely day in the library, too."

"It's not good for you to mope," said Ron, proving yet again that decent and loyal though he was, being observant was not one of his virtues.

"I'm not moping," Hermione said patiently. "I'm _working_. I'm studying. I _like_ studying."

"It's not healthy," Ron said, as he had many times before.

"Come on, it's sunny outside," Harry said coaxingly. "We're not going to get many more days like this, Hermione."

Hermione looked out at the sunlight. "Yes," she said patiently. "It's very nice. I went for a walk in it this morning, at your insistence. Now I'm tired and I'm working. You go... do something on your brooms."

"A little extra training wouldn't hurt," Ginny said. "All right, all right, a compromise... we'll go and leave you in peace if you promise to leave the books alone after dinner and spend some time with us then."

"All right, all right," Hermione said. "Socializing after dinner. I've written it down, see? Now shoo!"

They shooed, already talking about Quidditch.

Hermione waited until she was sure they were gone, then pulled the youthful Severus Snape's Potions textbook out of her bag. She'd read it through several times now, and for the first time she understood why Harry had liked the mysterious Half-Blood Prince so much. He questioned everything; he poked and prodded and picked... he was as stubborn and contrary as Harry was. (If she ever told them they'd been alike as teenagers, they'd both have hysterics, of course.)

And like Hermione, he was a compulsive taker of notes. She'd been concerned, at first, that the book had been some kind of trap or lure for Harry, but now that she'd actually read it, she knew differently. The young Severus Snape had apparently been constitutionally incapable of coming to a conclusion without carefully noting it down somewhere. Unlike Hermione, he'd taken the notes on the _book_, not a separate piece of parchment, but there was a distinct resemblance all the same.

Except that he consistently, flagrantly and determinedly _disagreed_ with the book, something that Hermione found almost shocking. She would never have dreamed of defacing a book save in the direst emergencies, let alone trying to correct it... although clearly Borage's text was seriously in need of correction. She couldn't test it right now, as much as her fingers itched to, but if Harry's stint with the book was any guide, Professor Snape had improved it quite significantly.

She'd done all she could with the books she had. Now, with a nice uninterrupted afternoon ahead of her, she could get down to some really serious research. Maybe she could find out why Borage's book was used as a textbook, and yet was so flagrantly wrong.

According to the library records, Libatius Borage's masterwork had been the standard text for advanced Potions study since 1912, well before the final exams had gotten a fancy new acronym.

The book had been revised just before his death in 1923 but not materially so.

_Potions of the Twentieth Century_ stated, in Chapter Three, that '_Advanced Potion-Making_ is the single most complete compilation of modern and traditional potions in both the practical and theoretical aspects in print today. No matter where research leads us, it is with _Advanced Potion-Making_ that we begin.' _Important Modern Magical Discoveries_ referenced Borage as the discoverer of two of the eleven instances in which a platinum-plated cauldron should be used and referred the reader to _Advanced Potion-Making_ for further details.

In _Magical Draughts and Potions_, Arsenius Jigger mentioned Borage in his dedication as 'the most forward-thinking traditionalist I have ever met - a great man'. (Were any of the standard texts written after 1930?)

She was sitting amid fortifications built of stacked books when she found a reference in _Building A New Century: The Witches And Wizards Who Led The Way_.

'Libatius Borage distilled a lifetime of accumulated knowledge into his last and most well known book, _Advanced Potion-Making_. This book, unlike the other two, was written for the use of students rather than dedicated practitioners of the Art of Potion-Making, and thus is written in a slightly different style. In _Advanced Potion-Making_, Borage sought to create a grimoire for a new age, combining new knowledge with the challenges of the books he had studied in his own student days.'

Hermione read and reread that paragraph, frowning. There was something there, something niggling at her...

She got up one more time, lugging an armful of books back to their rightful places on the way, and headed into the Restricted Section. _Moste Potente Potions_ was in its usual place, and she took it down, handling it gently. She'd originally gotten her hands on it strictly for the purpose of brewing Polyjuice Potion - but it was a book, and she was Hermione Granger. She'd read a lot more of it than the boys had ever suspected. Carrying it back to her desk and propping it carefully against a stack of books, she flipped to the short introductory note at the beginning which had been included by whoever had copied the original, decaying manuscript into a new book before it could be lost. She found the source of the niggle in the last few lines. Thank goodness she could read Latin with reasonable ease, or she would never have spotted it.

Translated, it read simply: 'Being a work intended for private use, and hitherto concealed by its creator, it is mostly free from the deliberate errors and other pitfalls employed by some wizards to preserve their secrecy even within their private grimoires. However, caution is advised.'

* * *

Severus was no nearer to finding out what was wrong with Hermione Granger... but he had, disturbingly, noticed a similar trend in the work of two otherwise gifted Ravenclaw students, a boy in the fifth year (Parks) and a girl in the second (Foxwood). One was Muggle-born; the other had a single Muggle-born grandparent. They did not come from similar geographical areas, fiscal backgrounds or even related families. They were all, however, very intelligent but inclined to be lacking in self-confidence.

Reluctantly, he headed for the school library. His own collection of books, although quite comprehensive in the fields of Potions and the Dark Arts, was somewhat thin on the subject of adolescent behaviour. The library would, undoubtedly, be of more help... on the other hand, he and Irma Pince had loathed each other ever since she'd caught him writing in a book (his own) when he was in his twenties.

"Professor Snape," the librarian said icily as he swept into the room.

"Madam Pince," he said coolly. "I am looking for - "

"I do not appreciate the disruption of my library in this wholesale manner," Madam Pince said, sniffing disapprovingly. "I realise that Miss Granger's... condition... makes traditional brewing unwise, but I do not believe that any substitute assignment should require that my Potions shelves be so thoroughly denuded. She is at the table at the end of the Pseudozoology shelves, and I would appreciate it if in future you would advise her to be more moderate in her research."

Severus blinked. "Miss Granger?" he asked, frowning. "I have given her no extra research or substitute assignments. I was aware that she had engaged in some personal project, but I did not know the subject."

Madam Pince tutted, looking more sour than ever. "There's always something with that girl," she muttered, heading for the Pseudozoology shelves. "Books from the Restricted Section, Water Magic stripped completely..." Before she could work herself up further, the library's dusty, dignified silence was shattered. "Oh, you utter _bastard!_," Hermione Granger shrieked, voice ringing with absolute outrage. "You filthy _swine_!"

"Silence!" Madam Pince shrieked, in tones of equal outrage, dashing around the corner. Severus was right behind her, wondering what on earth the girl could be shouting about... She couldn't have seen him. Had someone attempted to proposition her? Here in the library? With Pince about? He'd have to be mad...

He rounded the corner hot on the librarian's heels, to find Hermione Granger apparently trying to strangle her Potions textbook.

"I'm sorry for shouting, Madam Pince," she said guiltily, and then looked up at Severus and blushed a delicate pink. "I was... er... I was doing some research, and... uh..."

"Out!" Madam Pince shouted, puce with rage. "I don't want to see you in here for at least a week! Take your things and get _out_!"

"Yes, Madam Pince," Hermione said prudently, snatching up her books - and a couple of reams of what looked like notes. "Professor Snape, could I speak to you a moment? Er, outside?"

He wanted to refuse, but it would have been foolish to stay in the library now. Pince never let him out of her sight while he was in there, and right now she'd impede him out of sheer spite against the reading public in general. "If you must."

He followed her out, drawing his robes tightly around him. They felt like pitifully inadequate armour, but they would have to do. "What do you want, Miss Granger?" he asked tersely. Maybe he could put her off the idea of talking to him this time, since slamming a door in her face hadn't done the trick. "I do not have time to indulge you in another round of tedious and pointless self-flagellation."

She blinked and a brief flicker of hurt crossed her face before she assumed a calm expression, stuffing her notes and a couple of books into her bag. One of them was _Advanced Potion-Making_, and he realised with some surprise that she had two copies - one in the bag, one still in her hands. "This is yours, I believe," she said quietly, holding it out to him. "I thought you might like to have it back."

He accepted it, knowing what it must be... yes, the cover had changed, but it was his book, filled with his notes and comments and spells... "How did this come into your hands, Miss Granger?" he asked icily.

"I got it from Harry, as I'm sure you know perfectly well." She lifted her chin, giving him a cool look. "He said you hadn't asked for its return, but I thought you might want it."

"Is there some particular reason why you were screaming curses at it?" he asked, sneering at her. _By all means, girl, try to find an explanation that doesn't involve insulting me._

To his surprise, she neither looked embarrassed nor stammered guiltily that she had meant no offence to him. Instead she pointed at the book with a very small accusing finger. "I was cursing at Borage," she said, in tones of righteous indignation. "That book is _inaccurate_!"

He looked down at the book. "Of course it is," he said, with some surprise. "Surely you'd noticed that by now." He was too startled even to sound properly disdainful.

"But it's a _textbook_!" she said, apparently shocked to the core by this. "How can you use a textbook that you know is _wrong_?"

"Because you are supposed to be advanced students!" he said sharply. "If you're incapable of spotting even the harmless and minor misguidance in _Advanced Potion-Making_, how on earth can you be trusted with older and more dangerous works?"

Her mouth dropped open. "You mean it's on _purpose_?" she said shrilly. "But that's not fair!"

"In what way is it unfair to present a rudimentary challenge to the intellect to ensure that only the genuinely capable students -"

"It's unfair if you don't tell them it's a possibility; if they try to get things right by following the textbook - "

"If they're so stupid as to fail to realise that some of the instructions countermand what they've already learned - "

"But it's in the _book_, you're supposed to follow the instructions - "

"Simply following the instructions in most books of Potions will get you killed or worse, you stupid girl, it's common knowledge that most older grimoires are encoded or misleading in some way - "

"And how the hell is a Muggle-born supposed to know that? It's in the _book_!" she shrieked, small fists clenching.

There was a moment of ringing silence as they stared at each other, both flushed with rage and breathing hard.

Severus drew himself up, forcing his anger back. "Muggle education would seem to be even more pathetically lacking now than it was thirty years ago," he said grimly, but not angrily. "Is that why you deliberately avoid applying creativity in your work? Because you are under the impression that it is necessary to treat the textbook as unquestionably correct in all things?"

She blinked uncertainly. "Uhm... aren't I supposed to?" she asked, looking genuinely bewildered.

Both Parks and Foxwood had attended Muggle schools before attending Hogwarts. The possibility that they might have actually been _taught_ this failing had never occurred to him - what kind of second-rate teacher would actively teach a child not to think, just to regurgitate? "No, Miss Granger, you are not. As taxing as I'm sure it will be, you will have to demonstrate some ability to think for yourself if you have any desire to pass Potions this year."

"But... oh." She looked down at her feet. "I'm... uhm... sorry for shouting," she said penitently. "I just... I always thought..."

"You have always been praised for simply parroting information, and thus concluded that it was the one correct way," he said. "Despite my repeated admonitions to the contrary. How many times have I told you that merely repeating what is written in the book is insufficient?"

She shuffled her feet. "I don't know. A lot," she mumbled.

"Did it ever occur to you to actually listen?"

"No," she said, looking up at him guiltily. "I was so _used_ to it being right. I thought you were just... well... trying to take me down a peg or two."

"You thought? I was under the impression that thinking was what I was chastising you for _failing_ to do." He folded his arms and glared down at her. "Dare I hope that I have finally gotten through to you on that point?"

"Yes, Professor," she said, blushing pinkly again. "I'm sorry for being so dense."

He had been about to use that adjective himself and found himself put a bit off his stride by her apparently genuine humility. Again. "As you ought to be," he said grimly. "Very well, since you have finally come to the painfully obvious conclusion, I will expect three feet detailing the information I have already imparted to you that _should_ have led you to question Borage's text, and for what reason. By Friday."

"Yes, Professor," she said meekly. He nodded sharply, turning on his heel, and heard a tentative inquiry behind him. "Er... Professor Snape?"

He swung back, glaring. "What is it now, Miss Granger?"

"Er... I shouted at you," she said, still meek and quiet. "And swore at you. Aren't you going to take any house points?"

Hell. He'd hoped this would never come up - he rarely took points from Hermione Granger anyway, except when she was being particularly insufferable. "No," he said shortly. "That would not be... appropriate."

"Oh." Seemingly unconsciously, she touched her stomach. "I see. Thank you."

"Do not thank me, Miss Granger, for having a slightly stronger grasp on the proprieties than you do," he snapped. "If you'd managed appropriate behaviour yourself, neither you nor I would have this problem."

He stalked away before she could respond. Damn her. Damn her lack of propriety and her painfully shrill voice and her small, delicate hand that moved automatically to shield the child she carried.

Damn her.


	6. Chapter 6: The View From Outside

**Chapter 6: The View from Outside**

Harry picked at his breakfast moodily. Any second now.

"Hi, Harry," Hermione said cheerfully, sitting down beside him. "Did you sleep well?"

"No, I did not bloody sleep well!" Harry snarled. "And no, I am not having nightmares about Voldemort again. No, I don't think it _means_ something. I'm just not sleeping well, okay? Is that all right with everybody?"

There was a long moment of silence, in which he could feel everyone staring at him. "I was only asking," Hermione said, sounding hurt.

"So was I," Ginny said dryly, from Harry's other side. "About three minutes ago. So was Neville a few minutes before that."

"So was I when I woke up this morning." Ron nodded from across the table.

Harry scowled. "I don't know why everyone's so interested in how well I slept," he said grumpily, stabbing his fork into his sausage. "Why is everyone so interested all of a sudden?"

"Well, you've got black circles under your eyes, you're paler than usual and you haven't shaved," Hermione said matter-of-factly. "Not to mention that you don't usually swear at me. You're not the only one who's tired, you know."

Harry blushed, looking at her guiltily. Hermione looked almost as tired as he felt - which she'd assured them was normal for this stage of pregnancy, but it still bothered him to see the purple smudges under her eyes and the slump to her thin shoulders. "Yeah... look, I'm sorry about that, I just..." He pulled his glasses off to rub his eyes wearily. "I'm not sleeping well. I haven't been for a while. I feel... edgy."

"Really?" Ron gave him a worried look. "Are you sure there's nothing wrong? Maybe we should get Remus to check you for slow-acting hexes or something."

Hermione made a tutting noise, and they both looked at her. Harry grinned suddenly. Hermione's 'you're both such enormous idiots that I can hardly stand it' expression was annoying, true, but it was nice to see it again. When she spoke, it was in a lecturing tone that made him feel even better. Hermione lecturing meant everything was all right.

"Honestly, Ron, slow-acting hexes indeed," she said reprovingly. "Of _course_ Harry's feeling tense. It's perfectly normal, under the circumstances."

"It is?" Ron asked, frowning. "Why? I mean, the War's over, everything's all right... shouldn't he be relaxed?"

Hermione rolled her eyes at him and turned to Harry. "You're feeling sort of jumpy and off, right? As if there's something you should be doing, or something important that you've missed?"

"Yeah. That's it exactly, actually." Harry nodded. "It feels like there's something sort of hanging over my head. I mean, there is N.E.W.T.s, but they aren't bothering me that much yet."

"When do exams ever bother you?" Hermione shook her head, and then smiled affectionately at him. "Harry, when was the last time that the most important thing hanging over your head _was_ an exam? When you didn't have any immediate worries at all and you didn't have to worry about anyone being out to get you?"

Harry thought back. The War... the Order of the Phoenix... the Triwizard Tournament... Sirius... Riddle's diary and the Basilisk... the Philosopher's Stone... Dudley and the Dursleys... "I don't know," he said. "I don't think it's ever happened before."

"See? That's why." Hermione opened her diary with a businesslike air. "You're suffering from an unprecedented lack of doom, and it's coming as a shock. You'll be all right as soon as you get used to not having to fear for your life."

Harry stared at her. "You really think that's it?"

"I really do." Hermione grinned at him. "Of course, if it gets to be too much for you, Ginny can always let slip to her brothers that you've compromised her virtue, probably more than once. I'm sure you'd feel better once you couldn't leave Hogwarts grounds without fearing for your life."

Harry knew he was blushing furiously, and he didn't dare look across the table at Ron. "Hermione, will you _stop_ that?" he said plaintively.

Hermione drew a neat line through a box marked '11'. The boxes covered the front page of her diary and seemed to run from 1 to 42. "If you like. But you feel better, though, don't you?"

"Maybe," Harry muttered, not wanting to admit that he did.

Ginny laughed and slid an arm around his waist, resting her chin companionably on his shoulder. "I'm a bit jealous," she said. "Hermione knows you so much better than I do."

"You'll catch up in no time," Hermione said cheerfully, giving Ginny a rather mischievous grin. "He's not complicated."

"Hey!" Harry said indignantly, quite sure he was being insulted. "I'm right here, you know."

"Yes, I know," Hermione said, reaching for her usual dry toast. "But you shouldn't be. You should be upstairs shaving. You know how Professor McGonagall is about poor personal hygiene."

Harry rubbed his chin a bit sheepishly. "Is it really that noticeable?"

"I'm not kissing you until it goes away," Ginny said firmly.

"I'll go shave."

"You do that." Ginny smiled sweetly at him. "I'll finish your breakfast for you."

* * *

"It's good to see them back to normal," Remus Lupin said quietly as he watched Harry stride away, rubbing his chin self-consciously. "I've been worried... after everything they've been through, I wasn't sure they could settle down to just being students again."

"It is a relief," Minerva said equally quietly. "Mr Potter has been rather tetchy, of late. I'm glad to see Miss Granger is taking him in hand."

Remus smiled, watching Hermione pour herself some tea while Ginny helped herself to the remains of Harry's breakfast. "She always has... if they weren't so close to the same age, I'd say she mothers him."

"And thank goodness for that. I shudder to think what trouble those two boys would have gotten into without her keeping an eye on them," Minerva said firmly. "Does she look tired to you?"

"According to Harry, she's exhausted all the time but won't let them help beyond carrying her books for her when possible," Remus said. "I checked with Madam Pomfrey... she said it's normal, and should pass in a week or two more at most."

"Oh. Well, if it will pass..." Minerva, having never ventured that particular interesting condition herself, looked at their only pregnant student with a vaguely suspicious expression. "She's been keeping up with her homework, so far."

"She'd keep up with her homework if she was at death's door," Remus said ruefully. "I've had a word with Ginny Weasley... she's going to let me know if she thinks Hermione is overdoing it. You know as well as I do that Hermione wouldn't breathe a word until she actually collapsed."

"Probably not, no." Minerva shook her head and then smirked. "She's been doing even better than usual in Potions... the essays, anyway. I suspect that's why Severus has been looking so sour lately."

"He has, hasn't he?" Remus sipped his tea. "Professor... I mean, Minerva..." He still wasn't used to that, she'd been 'Professor McGonagall' for so long. "If you don't mind my asking... why did he go back to Potions? I thought he'd always wanted to teach Defence."

"To be honest, Remus, I have no idea," she said very softly. "I asked him to come back, and he agreed - I thought to take up the Defence position. When he arrived, though, he announced that he would be taking Potions again and marched straight down to his dungeons. He didn't come out for days."

"That's it?" Remus felt his eyebrows attempting to hide in his hairline. "Just like that?"

"Just like that." Minerva shook her head. "He flatly refused to discuss it... and frankly, I didn't press the point. The Potions position is one of the most difficult to fill, and it would have been quite impossible on such short notice."

Remus glanced at Snape's empty seat (he had gulped his coffee and left already). "I would have thought he'd be... I don't know... happier, now that Voldemort is gone, and he's been fully exonerated," he said thoughtfully. "He's touchier than ever."

"He's upset about something," Minerva said softly, and then snorted as Remus gave her a surprised look. "I've known him since he was eleven years old, Remus. We don't always get along, but that doesn't mean I can't tell when something's bothering him. I haven't seen him this twitchy since Sirius Black escaped from Azkaban."

Remus looked down at his plate. "That was... bad?" he asked guiltily. He knew Severus had objected strenuously to his appointment both times, and he couldn't blame the man... he'd nearly killed him twice now. It was quite possible that Remus had been the reason for the twitching, not Sirius... and that he still was.

"Poppy was treating him for an ulcer by the beginning of January," Minerva said. "I have no idea what's upsetting him now, though."

* * *

Severus Snape was hunched over his desk, scribbling criticism and corrections over a pile of student essays. He looked tired and tense... but then, he always had.

"Severus?" the ghost of Albus Dumbledore said softly. He could no longer knock, but he hovered halfway through the door, ready to retreat if he was unwelcome.

Severus looked up, his shoulders slumping just a little. "Albus," he said wearily. "I am very busy. Did you want something?"

"To see how you fare, my boy, nothing more." Albus drifted through the door and made a pretence of sitting down on the hard chair where penitent students were expected to sit. "Something is bothering you."

Severus scowled. He always did, whenever Albus said anything personal. "What could possibly be bothering me? The students are back and filling the school with the squeals of happy idiocy. I have my very own dungeon back again, as dank as when I left it. And I am once again the head of the most unpopular House at Hogwarts. I am ecstatic, I assure you. Every day is a fresh delight."

Albus chuckled. "At least your ability to wax sarcastic is unimpaired," he said, smiling fondly at the younger man. "If ever it deserted you, I would be certain you were at death's door."

"Yes, well... I am perfectly well, Albus," Severus said, setting down his quill. "I am merely... tired."

"You have been, as you put it, tired ever since the school year started or a little before," Albus said gently. "As has Mr Potter, incidentally."

The Potions Master's head snapped up, and Albus was subjected to a refreshingly venomous glare. "I assure you, Albus, that Mr Potter and I are not... tired for the same reason. At all."

"Miss Granger had an interesting suggestion on the subject," Albus said, then paused for a moment. There had been an indefinable _something_ in Severus's eyes at the mention of that name. "She told Mr Potter that he was, as I understand it, 'suffering from an unprecedented lack of doom', and that it was coming as a shock to his system. You, too, are in such a situation... for the first time in a much longer life than Mr Potter's, you are not in direct danger from anyone. Imminent doom is not hanging over you, and you have a sudden dearth of enemies. Is that what's bothering you, Severus? The sudden release of a tension to which you are too accustomed to let go of easily?"

"No." The thin shoulders tensed and then slumped. "Perhaps. I am not entirely without enemies, even now, but it is... disconcerting to find myself with only a single role to play, instead of half-a-dozen."

Albus sighed. "I had hoped that my presence at your trial would be enough," he said apologetically. "I have told you before, Severus, and I will tell you again, how sorry I am for what I asked you to do that night."

"You asked too much," Severus said shortly, looking away. "You always did. And even in death, you continue to do so. I am fine, Albus. I am... adjusting. Please leave me alone."

"If that is your wish." Albus nodded, lowering his eyes sadly. Severus had passed the last and greatest test of their friendship... but it seemed Albus himself had failed. "One question, before I go, about Miss Granger..."

Once again, the name was greeted by an infinitesimal moment of tension. "What about her?"

"How is she doing, Severus? You know the signs of strain after all these years as Head of House. As does Minerva, but in the case of Miss Granger, who is so very much like Minerva herself as a girl, she is inclined to be a little less observant than usual. I know Miss Granger is tired, but... is she handling the stress of approaching N.E.W.T.s and impending motherhood combined?"

Severus scowled, eyes going to the desk where a single roll of parchment lay slightly apart from the rest. "Her work is in general higher than her usual standard. She is managing quite well," he said, clearly begrudging every syllable.

"Really?" Albus made a thoughtful noise. "Her other teachers have mentioned that the standard of her work has dropped somewhat. Still brilliant, of course, but less comprehensive than usual. She must be making a special effort for Potions, to make up for being unable to perform the practical portions of the subject."

Severus looked surprised at that. "Indeed. Interesting." He picked up the solitary roll of parchment, fiddling with it and frowning. "I have a question for you, too, before you go," he said slowly. "I am unconvinced that Miss Granger is ready for the responsibility of motherhood. It is a difficult and thankless task at best, and she is very young. Do you think she will be able to perform it to an adequate standard?"

Albus smiled. "I think she will perform more than adequately... and will undoubtedly be the fussiest, most overprotective mother since Molly Weasley had her first. As long as the child survives the avalanche of woollies, healthful potions and protective charms that I am sure she is already preparing, I am certain he or she will have no complaints." Severus nodded, seeming to relax a little bit, and Albus nodded. "A moment of youthful indiscretion aside, Hermione has very little in common with Eileen," he said very gently. "I do not think you need fear that this child will ever be unloved or unwanted."

Severus frowned. "Go away, old man," he said, going back to his marking with an annoyed flick of his quill.

Albus drifted away through the door, pleased to have divined at least one source of Severus's distress. He knew that Eileen and Tobias had told their son over and over that he had been an unwanted complication which had forced them to remain together long after their brief passion had faded. Naturally, he would be concerned about the welfare of another child conceived during a moment of carelessness... but Hermione Granger was nothing like Eileen Prince. Albus hoped that he'd laid that fear, at least, to rest.

Perhaps it was for the best that she refused to name the child's father. Better one loving parent who wanted you than two who regretted you, after all.

* * *

Draco was sometimes convinced that one day his wand would actually grow onto his right hand. And not in the way that he had been jocularly warned about when he was fourteen. Thank Merlin, he was of age... although he probably could have gotten a dispensation, under the circumstances.

He'd come to terms, more or less, with losing his left hand and forearm. Professor Snape had said something at the time like 'if thy hand offend thee, strike it off' - he didn't remember the precise words, since he'd been half out of his mind with pain, but it was something along those lines. It had helped him adjust. The Dark Mark, and the hand it was attached to, had represented a part of him that he didn't like and didn't want. In a way, it had almost been a relief to see it go.

What frustrated him was how hard everything was to _do_ with only one hand. He'd cut his hair ruthlessly short, which had solved one problem, but he had to use magic for almost everything else. Getting dressed in the morning. Showering. Getting his bloody trousers up. Everything had to be either done by magic or take forever. He'd thought more than once about getting a prosthetic fitted, but... no. He never again wanted to be the person he'd been when he was whole.

It was a relief of sorts, though, to have someone else's troubles to take his mind off his own. "You don't look like you're sleeping," he said, sipping his tea. Out of a mug, thankfully... teacups were hard to keep steady with only one hand, something his godfather had realised at the first of these meetings.

Snape definitely did look a bit the worse for wear. Draco had expected some sort of improvement, after the war ended... but if anything, Snape looked wearier than before. Now he made a sour face, sipping his own tea. "I haven't been," he admitted. "Have you?"

Draco shook his head. "Not always. Sometimes I'm all right; sometimes... I dream. You?"

"Often." Snape looked into his cup, his expression distant. "It's... unsettling, the way everyone seems determined to pretend the War never happened."

"Oh, Merlin, yes," Draco said fervently. "Here we are, all back at school like good children, squabbling over the Quidditch Cup and house points..." And there was another regret. He could still fly, and he was grateful for that, but he would never play Quidditch again. One hand for the ball, one for the broom, that was the minimum.

"Well, given how long the general populace were successful in denying the Dark Lord's return altogether, I suppose it should come as no surprise that they're anxious not to think about him now," Snape muttered, stirring his tea absently. "It feels... surreal, don't you think? As if we've woken from a dream and found that none of it really happened at all... except that in dreams, it's still real." Draco nodded. "It's easier for me, I think," he said, lifting what remained of his left arm slightly. "I have this constant reminder that it _was_ real, and that I survived." He saw the familiar guilt shadow his godfather's face and shook his head. "And will you stop that?"

"Stop what?" Snape asked, quirking a sardonic eyebrow.

Draco ignored it. "Feeling guilty that it was my Dark Mark we used against Him," he said firmly. "I won't say it wasn't disgusting and disturbing seeing my arm used like that, but I wanted it off. I cut it off, not you. Stop feeling guilty for not protecting me from a sacrifice I wanted to make."

Snape sighed and looked away. "I will try," he said after a long moment. "But I still think I should have been the one to - "

"No, you bloody well shouldn't," Draco said very firmly. "I don't need it for what I want to do with my life, all right? Charms only takes one. Potions requires two. That's how it is." He set his mug down to reach for a biscuit. "How are classes now, anyway? Weasley managed to go a week without doing something stupid yet?"

"Two," Snape said, seeming relieved at the switch to a less painful topic. "I suspect he's hoarding his idiocy until he can do something really spectacular, like kill the entire class in one go."

"You have my sympathies." Draco shook his head, grinning. "Losing me and Granger... still, at least you have the Ravenclaws."

"For what they're worth." Snape looked aggrieved. "I don't miss the gratuitous sucking-up, mind you, but at least I didn't have to watch you every moment to make sure you didn't put something in your _mouth_."

"I don't miss it, either." And he didn't. If nothing else, his brief stint as a Death Eater and the death of Dumbledore had finally broken down the barrier between the two of them. Draco no longer tried to please Snape with the fawning that Lucius had enjoyed, and Snape spoke more openly to Draco, so Draco suspected, than he did to any other living person. It felt good, to be able to be honest with someone. "Is Granger keeping up all right?"

The eyebrow went up again. "Why?" Snape asked curiously. "You've never liked the girl."

"No, I never did." Draco shrugged. "She was one of Potter's sidekicks, a Gryffindor and a Muggle-born. The possibility that she might be likeable in some way never occurred to me. It's... different, this year."

"Different how?" The tone of the question was subtly off... just a shade too casual for real disinterest. Snape really wanted to know - he wasn't just making conversation.

"Well, she's civil to me," Draco said wryly. "One of the few, given my former Death Eater status. She's not my new best friend, or anything, but she's pleasant enough. And she's not having an easy year, either."

Snape snorted. "She knew she was pregnant before the year began," he said dismissively. "She had more than adequate opportunity to either get rid of the child or leave the school, and she decided that she would manage both pregnancy and education. She knew it would be difficult, and I do not pity her for a choice freely made."

"I didn't expect you to," Draco said dryly. "But it's nice not to be the only social pariah in our year. We even sit next to each other in Arithmancy, now... Padma Patil seems to think that promiscuity might be catching."

Snape's head snapped up, and there was an angry glint in his eyes. "Miss Patil is in no position to condemn a witch of infinitely superior abilities for a single moment of carelessness," he snapped. "Sentimental, self-indulgent and short-sighted Miss Granger may be, but she is hardly a - " He seemed to realise what he was saying and closed his mouth with a snap. "The girl has so many faults," he muttered, looking away. "It hardly seems necessary to accuse her of one of the few she lacks."

Draco's eyebrows went up. "A slut she certainly is not," he said bluntly. "She acts more like a virgin saint than anything else, even with the current evidence to the contrary. I'm surprised to hear you defending her, though." Snape huffed in annoyance, but didn't say anything. "On second thought, though, I'm not really surprised."

Snape glared at him. "Why? I assure you that I am no fonder of Potter and his cohorts than I ever was."

"No, but there are some things that are... inappropriate. Something I learned from you, as I recall." You don't hit girls, you don't hex girls, and you don't call a lady's reputation into question. You just _don't_. Evil was a negotiable point, but being coarse was unthinkable. Needless to say, that had been an idea drummed into him by his mother and his godfather - Lucius had disagreed. Draco pushed away the pang of guilt at the thought of his father with practiced speed.

Snape relaxed slightly. "That is true," he said. He looked almost... relieved. Some lingering guilt about the Granger girl? Draco couldn't help wondering.

"She is... nice," Draco said thoughtfully, sipping his tea. "I saw her knitting a little hat in the library the other day while she was studying, and I found myself almost envying the baby. One day it will know that she loved it enough to be willing to put her N.E.W.T.s and her beloved learning in jeopardy for its sake."

"Yes," Snape said rather tersely, and there was a long pause in the conversation.

Snape had never mentioned it, but Draco remembered being pulled aside as a small child and cautioned by Narcissa never to ask about his godfather's parents. He'd drawn his own conclusions from that. "It seems to be generally agreed that she will be a doting mother," Severus said, staring into the fire.

"There are worse things," Draco said quietly. His mother was a bit mad and utterly amoral, but he'd never for an instant doubted that she loved him. The worst thing about giving up his arm and his alliance to the Dark Lord had been his fear of disappointing her... or worse, causing her to be hurt.

She'd made him beg a lot, but she'd forgiven him eventually.

"Yes, I suppose there are." Snape nodded slowly, then shook his head slightly and set his mug down with a firm click. "It's getting late. I'll escort you back to your common room."

* * *

Bonus Material: PLEASE READ

This has come up in quite a few comments, both by email and review-posting on FFnet and since I have no desire to keep typing out my arguments regarding Hermione's choice to not have an abortion, I will make my argument here. Anyone who brings this up again will be referred back to this note unless they have a _very_ well-thought-out point to make.

Hermione is not choosing to keep the baby for 'sentiment', 'morality', my own 'cultural bias' and certainly not to 'force Snape to marry her'. I know that abortion is a difficult subject for many people, especially those from the U.S. where it has been made such a political football.

Hermione did not have an abortion in 'Accountable' because I believe that it would be _inconsistent with her character_ to do so. I am not trying to send any sort of message and I am personally much in favour of abortion being readily available for those who wish to have one. But some people just don't feel comfortable with doing that, and that, too, is a completely valid choice.

Hermione has indicated strongly over the years, through her protectiveness of Harry, her insistence on championing the oppressed whether they want her to or not, and her adoption of Crookshanks more or less solely on the basis that nobody else wanted him, that she is a very nurturing character with a strong protective drive. I cannot see the Hermione who formed S.P.E.W. and gave up seeing her parents almost entirely to take care of Harry giving up her own child because her pregnancy is inconveniently timed and/or awkward to explain.

Nor, I think, would Snape want or expect her to. He is not so self-indulgent as to want a healthy, much-wanted child to be obliterated because its presence will make him temporarily uncomfortable. Moreover, aborting the child without telling him would be a worse abrogation of his rights than the initial conception - what if he'd always wanted children? What if he would be ecstatic to find someone willing to bring a child to term for him and then hand it over, or just give him access-visits? She has no way of knowing until she tells him.

There seems to be a prevailing assumption that I am an American. I am, as it happens, Australian. I consulted on this story with whitehound, who _is_ British. (For those interested, I am also married to an American and have a British grandparent.) Not everyone on the Internet is American, nor are they all ignorant of British cultural mores.

Abortion, however, is a profoundly personal choice, as I attempted to show in the first conversation with Lavender and Parvati - Hermione is opposed to abortion in her own case, Lavender assumes that it is the only possible choice, and Parvati is horrified at the mere suggestion. All are equally valid attitudes, and despite the fact that all three girls are the same age, going to the same school, and from the same country, they are all very _different_ attitudes. People are like that.

I also strongly believe that telling all in the first chapter or two of a long story makes it a boring one. No, I haven't revealed nearly all of what happened, how Hermione feels about it, how Snape feels about it, or anything else. These things will be revealed - as will the nature of Ron's war wound and the plot against Harry - when the time comes. Patience is a virtue.


	7. Chapter 7: Thinking Of You

**Chapter 7: Thinking Of You**

* * *

"Well, you seem perfectly healthy to me," Madam Pomfrey said with satisfaction. "How is the nausea?"

"Gone," Hermione said, with profound relief. Her morning sickness hadn't been at all severe, according to Madam Pomfrey, but it had been very uncomfortable. It was good to eat a proper breakfast again. "I haven't been sick since Tuesday."

"Wonderful." The nurse tapped her wand lightly against Hermione's stomach, muttering another diagnostic spell. "And the tiredness?"

"Less, I think," Hermione said uncertainly. "I haven't fallen asleep sitting up for a couple of days, but I'm still tired."

"Well, give it another week or so. It'll go." Madam Pomfrey beamed at her. "Everything is going perfectly... except for the fact that you're doing too much, as usual. I want you to go to bed _early_ tonight, and no more studying this afternoon." Her thirteen-week check-up was actually her twelve-weeks-and-six-days checkup, since Sunday morning was the best time for both of them, and so far every Sunday since the start of term had involved being told to rest more.

Hermione blushed guiltily. "It won't hurt the baby if I study, surely?" she asked worriedly. She still didn't _look_ pregnant, but she could feel a very slight, firm swell now. It made the pregnancy feel a bit more real than just vomiting a lot had done. "I'll read in bed."

"As long as you let yourself nap when you get drowsy, studying in bed is permissible," Madam Pomfrey said, after giving her a warning look. "But exhausting yourself is _not_ good for the baby, as well you know. Have you been taking your potion?"

"Yes, Madam Pomfrey," Hermione said obediently. She'd been rather surprised to discover that there was a wizarding equivalent to pre-natal vitamins, and she'd taken both wizard and Muggle supplements conscientiously, once Madam Pomfrey had assured her that the two wouldn't interact badly. "I was wondering…. Where did you get it? The potion, I mean. It can't be something you usually keep on hand."

"Professor Snape brews all the infirmary's potions." Madam Pomfrey smiled reassuringly. "Don't worry, his brewings are always of the highest quality."

That made her feel... odd. Guilty, because once again he had to do something for her that he probably didn't want to, but relieved as well. There would be no mistakes in _that_ potion, at least. "Did he mind?" she asked, nibbling her lower lip. Thinking about him... and talking about him... were like picking at a scab. It hurt, but she couldn't help herself. "I mean, I could brew it myself quite easily, it's a very simple one. If he didn't want to waste his time on it."

"Why would he mind? He does all the others." Madam Pomfrey nodded, and nudged Hermione off the bed she'd been sitting on. "Well, that's it. I'll see you next week - and get some sleep!"

* * *

She looked brighter this morning than she had in a long time. According to Poppy Pomfrey, the pregnancy was so far proceeding along blissfully normal lines, and the nausea had gone away.

Not that he'd asked. He'd gone up to the infirmary to deliver a new batch of simple burn ointment and had not been allowed to escape without hearing the details of Hermione Granger's approaching motherhood. He couldn't entirely blame Poppy... after years of tending normal school-child bumps and bruises, with the occasional horrible accident or badly-damaged Death Eater Potions master, a pregnancy must be at least an interesting change.

Now that she was eating properly again, he noticed, she was careful to eat well. She'd been ignoring the rich desserts and greasy options at table, unlike most of her fellow teenagers, and contenting herself with moderate portions of simple foods. He had no idea if this was her normal pattern, or if she was making dietary sacrifices for the sake of the child. He had never paid attention to what she ate before. He was angry with himself for paying attention now.

Severus sipped his strong, bitter coffee, and found his eyes straying again to Hermione Granger. As always, she was sitting with the other two members of the Trio... now a Quartet, as Ginny Weasley seemed to have made herself a permanent member. All three of them seemed to have lost interest in fussing over Hermione (the novelty having presumably worn off), but he'd noticed the Weasley girl watching her carefully. If he knew Molly Weasley, young Ginny had been ordered to provide regular bulletins on how much Hermione ate and what, how well she slept, and in general all the details a motherly and extremely nosy woman could want.

He found himself wondering if Albus and Draco were right about the girl... and for that matter, whose interpretation was closer. Albus saw her as a younger Molly, preparing to coddle and spoil a dearly desired baby. Draco's brief discourse on the subject had held her up as a model of maternal nobility, willing to risk her most treasured ambitions in order to bring the child to term. Both had seemed convinced, however, that she wanted and cared for the child.

_His_ child.

Why would a pretty young witch, a genuine heroine with a bright future and doubtless a half-dozen brainless young louts vying for her affections, burden herself with a fatherless baby? Her chances for employment would be substantially limited by the presence of a tiny dependent. And there was the better-than-average chance that the child would resemble him - if there were rumours of promiscuity now, bearing his unacknowledged son or daughter would seal them forever. Even if it didn't look at all like him, having a baby a couple of months before sitting her N.E.W.T.s would disrupt her studies badly. Draco was right, she was risking all her most treasured ambitions for the child's sake. Not sacrificing them, she wasn't such a fool, but risking them certainly.

Could Albus and Draco be right? She genuinely wanted the child? Certainly she had claimed to, when she'd come to his office to confess, but he'd put it down to the usual cloying Gryffindor sentimentality, not any reasoned acceptance of the impact a child would have on her life.

Frowning, he watched her rise from the table, smiling up at Ron Weasley as he clumsily stepped back out of her way. She fell in beside him, following Harry Potter's lead out of the Hall.

Following Harry Potter, as she always had. He scowled, pushing his untouched breakfast away. He was wasting far too much thought on the chit.

* * *

"Hey, Hermione."

She couldn't have said what it was about Michael Corner's greeting that raised her hackles. Possibly the use of her first name - he'd gone out with Ginny, but he and Hermione had never known each other well. "Hello, Michael," she said politely, but she didn't make any motion to shift the piles of books and notes all over the table to make room for him. If he wanted to borrow her notes or get her help with his homework, he was going to have to ask. Politely. While standing.

Instead, he moved a stack of books and sat down on the bench beside her. "Listen, uh... I was wondering," he said tentatively. "Do you have a partner yet for that Transfiguration project we're doing next week?"

"Susan and I were planning to do it together." Susan Bones wasn't a genius at Transfiguration, but she was steady and not prone to sloppy wand-work. The transfiguration of a single object by two people simultaneously was difficult at best, and Hermione had secretly been quite glad that Harry and Ron had immediately opted to work together.

"Oh." Corner fiddled aimlessly with one of the coloured strips of paper she used for bookmarks. "Well..." He gave her a hopeful look, clearly hoping she would make some sort of conversation for him. Hermione had had that ploy used on her far too often by Ron and Harry and just raised her eyebrows, waiting. Corner squirmed and looked away. "Are you... er... going with anybody on the next Hogsmeade weekend?" he asked a copy of _Asiatic Anti-Venoms_.

Hermione blinked. And surreptitiously pinched herself. "Er... no, not really..."

"Good." He fiddled with the bookmark some more. "Would you like to go with me, then?"

"I..." Hermione had never in her life had to turn anyone down. Only two boys had ever asked her out (she'd been the one to ask McLaggen) and she'd been delighted by both Viktor's request and Ron's... at the time, anyway. How on earth did you say 'good God, no' politely? "I'm... flattered, but..."

"It'd be fun," he said earnestly. "We could go to the bookshop, and to Honeydukes, and to the Three Broomsticks and... uh... you know..."

Hermione opened her mouth to say a polite but firm no, and then closed it abruptly. Had he just suggested what his wheedling tone sounded like it was suggesting? "We could go to the Three Broomsticks and...?" she said, doing her best to simulate polite interest.

"Well... you know," he said, blushing a bit and giving her a decidedly hopeful look.

"Spell it out for me." Polite interest was out the window now, and her voice was decidedly chilly.

Corner looked a bit embarrassed, but seemed unaware that he should be on his feet and running. "Well, you can't get any more... you know... than you are, and I thought, well..."

Hermione's eyebrows were attempting to climb into her hair. "Let me see if I understand you," she said frostily. "You would like to go with me to the Three Broomsticks, where presumably we would hire a room and go at it like rabid Kneazles. Right. What _exactly_ made you think that suggesting that was a good idea?"

Had either Ron or Harry heard her direct that tone at them, they would already have been begging forgiveness on bended knee. Any sensible person would, at the least, have run for it. Corner, apparently, was the sort to counter embarrassment with bluster. "Well, there's no harm in asking," he said defensively, looking pointedly at her stomach. "It's not like everyone doesn't know that you don't mind a bit of - "

Hermione slapped him so hard he was knocked off the bench and onto the floor. "You have until I count to three," she said grimly, reaching for her wand. "Then I'll make sure you're never _able_ to make that kind of offer again. One... two..."

Corner scrambled to his feet and bolted, swearing.

Hermione stared after him, her face hot and her fist clenched around her wand. Everyone knew she didn't mind a bit of, did they? Talking about her behind her back, implying that she was a... She bit her lip, her eyes stinging. How _dared_ they!

She heard a quiet chuckle behind her, and swung around, wand raised - to find Draco Malfoy leaning against a bookshelf and looking decidedly amused. "If he hadn't been such a lout, I'd have felt sorry for him," he said, rubbing his own jaw absently. "Your slaps have a fair bit of force behind them, if I remember right."

She deflated slightly. Draco had been making an effort to be civil, at least, since they'd returned to the school, and they'd managed to become... not friends, precisely, but tentatively friendly. "He deserved it."

"Oh, undoubtedly." Draco grinned lopsidedly at her. "I'm sure it will be good for him."

"He can have another, if the first one doesn't do the job." She made herself put the wand down - her fingernails had dug painfully into her palm. "So was he right?"

A pale eyebrow rose. "About your enthusiasm for a bit of unspecified? I wouldn't know."

She snorted. "About 'everyone knowing' that I like a bit of unspecified."

"There are rumours," he admitted, after a moment's thought. "Common in Slytherin, of course... you're decidedly unpopular there, under the circumstances. I don't have much civil contact with members of the other Houses, but from what I hear, the rumours are there but not accepted as fact, at least not by everyone." He shrugged. "A lad desperate for a shag is capable of believing almost anything, as Corner has kindly demonstrated."

"That's true." And made her feel a little better. She knew perfectly well how stupid teenaged boys could be when it came to the prospect of sex. That didn't mean anyone else thought... that... about her. "Thanks," she said, a little stiffly. It still felt odd, having a conversation with Draco Malfoy.

"You're welcome." Draco shrugged again. "What are the rumours about me?"

She'd walked into that. She had to tell him, now that he'd done the same service for her. "That you're either a turncoat or simply a coward. People are still suspicious of Professor Snape, but being part of the Order means that they're wary of condemning him outright. The general consensus about you is that he used bribery and blackmail to keep you out of Azkaban because he's your godfather."

Draco made an amused noise. "That's fairly close to the truth. What do you think?"

Hermione lifted her chin, meeting his eyes squarely. "I think it takes a lot of courage to admit that you've been that badly wrong," she said firmly. "And even more to actually sever your own arm and... make use of it."

Cool grey eyes held hers for a moment, and then he smiled a small but genuine smile. "Actually, the arm was the easier part. But thank you."

"You're welcome." She returned his smile. "Thank you for what you did. It would have taken months or years longer to defeat... him... without you."

"I know. I wouldn't have bothered to help, otherwise." Draco inclined his head, his expression wry. "I am still a Slytherin, though a reformed one. If you'd been able to do all the work, I would have let you."

Hermione laughed at that, knowing it was probably as honest as Draco had ever been. "I wouldn't have expected otherwise. But thank you anyway."

He nodded. "I... have to thank you, as well," he said quietly. "For saving my godfather."

Hermione blushed. "It wasn't a big deal," she mumbled, picking her wand up again to fiddle with it. "I just... know Harry."

She'd worked out well before Harry had that the notes with hints to the locations of the Horcruxes weren't really from Dumbledore, no matter what the handwriting looked like. She'd had suspicions then, and when Professor Snape had reappeared, carrying the last of them, she'd been sure.

Harry, being Harry, had cast a particularly vicious hex almost the moment he saw Snape - _Sectumsempra_, the slashing hex that Snape himself had invented. Against someone who had appeared with both his hands clearly visible, and no wand in either. She'd leaped in front of her Professor without thinking, casting and recasting _Protego_ until Harry had been restrained, and his wand taken away from him. He'd been furious with her, of course, but Ron had convinced him that it had merely been a symptom of excessive tender-heartedness, not treachery.

"So do I. He would have killed Professor Snape if you hadn't intervened - and he probably would have hexed his way straight through anyone else who tried to stop him. So thank you." Draco shrugged and looked away, clearly uncomfortable with the emotional honesty of the moment, and Hermione stifled a sudden urge to laugh. Harry and Draco would both be outraged by the comparison, but they reacted to moments of emotion in exactly the same way.

"There's no need to thank me. I didn't even think, I just threw myself in front of him." She smiled ruefully. "Incurable Gryffindor that I am, I suppose."

"A True Gryffindor would have struck him down where he stood as just punishment for his crimes," Draco said, surprising her with a sudden, intent look. "Justice is the Gryffindor tradition, not mercy. I don't suppose the Hat considered putting you in Hufflepuff?"

"Not for an instant. It was Gryffindor or Ravenclaw." Hermione shook her head. "It's... I suppose it was one of those funny Muggle superstitions that you wizards don't hold with." She met his eyes again. "Under Muggle law, everyone is entitled to a fair and honest trial. No matter what they've done... or seem to have done."

He seemed surprised by that. "What... everyone? Even murderers and the like?"

"Of course. After all, they might not have done it. We have this quaint little custom of demanding evidence when a crime has been committed."

"What, you mean actually _prove_ that someone's done something before locking them up for it?" He shook his head, laughing softly. "Very quaint. Not the way we do things, of course, but... maybe even Muggles can stumble on a good idea or two, given long enough. Probably by accident, of course."

"Oh, undoubtedly," she agreed, returning his smirk. "I'd suggest that they must have gotten the idea from some wizard or other in disguise... except that it's a concept that you people don't seem to have grasped yet."

"Touche." Draco inclined his head politely. "I retreat in confusion." He suited action to word, turning on his heel and slipping away between the shelves.

Hermione sat down at the table again, feeling a bit as if she'd just run a marathon. She wasn't used to the Slytherin conventions of guarded conversation, and she wasn't at all sure she hadn't just made a fool of herself somehow. It seemed quite possible, though, on the balance of the evidence, that she'd just scored some kind of point.

Feeling oddly pleased, she went back to her research.

* * *

Draco had been invited to spend as much of his spare time as he wished in his godfather's rooms at the end of the first week of term, when he'd shown up in the hospital wing covered in seeping sores after what he described as a slight hexing incident. The majority of Slytherin House - those who remained, at least - were inclined to still accept him as one of their own, but there were at least a few who saw both him and his godfather as traitors.

Severus tried not to think about that, but was forcibly reminded each time he returned to once-private rooms to find another person reading his books and drinking his tea. He hated having his privacy invaded, even by the boy who had come to stand in for the son he thought he would never have.

Of course he might, now, but only in the technical sense. Draco was unlikely to face any competition for his attention, even after the child was born.

When he entered his study on this particular evening, Draco was sitting in front of the fire, gazing into it with an amused expression. "There's tea," he said, looking up from the fire and grinning. "Do you ever find that you've underestimated someone?"

"Rarely." Severus poured himself a cup of tea, sniffing the steam. This was one benefit of Draco's presence - he loved tea, could mix dozens of different blends even one-handed, and insisted on sharing them. Severus had found himself appreciating the subtle variations, even though he'd rarely ever bothered with anything but strong black tea himself. "Have you?"

"Frequently. But I only had one of them pointed out to me today." Draco sipped his own tea. "It was quite entertaining, actually... Michael Corner approached Hermione Granger with an invitation to go to Hogsmeade with him at Hallowe'en... and followed up with the suggestion that they go to the Three Broomsticks for a bit of 'you know'." Draco snickered. "He was stupid enough to believe the more salacious rumours about her, apparently."

Severus frowned. Whatever the circumstances, he disliked the idea that he had had some part in tarnishing Hermione Granger's reputation. She was a shrill, unimaginative, idiotically loyal shrew, certainly. Her single drunken escapade aside, however, she was a modest shrew who did not plaster her face with makeup, dress like a Knockturn Alley prostitute, or carry on with any willing male at the drop of a hat; and as unfashionable as those qualities were now, he admired them. "I doubt his reception was as warm as he'd hoped," he said dryly, adding a little honey to his tea.

"She slapped him right off the bench and onto the floor," Draco said happily. "She slapped me, once, in third year... I told you, didn't I?"

"You had a bruise, as I recall." Severus didn't resist the urge to chuckle. "I imagine Corner took himself off in quite a hurry."

"Oh, that he did." Draco smirked. "She hit him even harder than she hit me. It upset her, of course, but mostly it made her angry." His expression softened, then. "She thanked me," he said quietly. "For what we did. Helping them." He touched his left sleeve in a gesture that had become habitual when he remembered those months. "She said that she believed it must have taken a great deal of courage."

Severus looked into the fire as well. Another of his assumptions about the girl shattered. He'd always believed she shared Potter's deep and biased dislike of Draco Malfoy. "As it did. The recognition is no more than your due."

"Oh, I know... I just didn't expect to get it from her." Draco smiled a little. "She told me why she saved you, incidentally. I imagine you've wondered."

Every day. "At times. Why?"

"I wondered, too." Draco grinned. "Don't worry, it's not because she's nursing some sort of secret passion for you... at least, I don't think so. She said it was because of a Muggle belief... that everyone, no matter who they are or what they've done, deserves a fair and honest trial. With evidence and all. Which you hadn't had, so she shielded you." He swirled his tea absently in his mug. "I did underestimate her. I thought she was just... a Mudblood. A nothing. But I was wrong..."

Severus gritted his teeth, running through the mental exercises that he had used to maintain a false calm in Voldemort's presence. It wasn't enough that the girl had seduced him while he was incapacitated, and then insisted on carrying his child to term. It wasn't enough that she persisted in shattering his assumptions about her.

Now Draco was damned well attracted to her.

Damn it.

* * *

"Harry, you are not allowed to kill him." Hermione laughed, watching Harry pace, clutching at his hair and messing it up more than ever in his fury. "I'm the one whose virtue he questioned, and I handled it."

"You didn't even hex him!" Harry gestured wildly with his wand, pink and gold sparks puffing out of the end. "Something horrible and permanent! Is there an impotence hex?"

"Harry!" Ron gave his friend a horrified look. "That's _terrible_!"

"I know, but he deserves it!" Harry said, waving his wand again. "Treating Hermione like some kind of... of cheap floozy!"

"Actually, I'm fairly sure he expected to get it for free," Hermione said, straight-faced. Ginny choked, Ron went purple, and Harry made the exact same outraged noise Trevor produced when picked up by the hind legs.

"Are you sure we're not allowed to kill him?" Ron asked pleadingly. "Or we could just duff him up a bit, you know, just so he knows to be polite."

"I hit him so hard he fell off the bench, Ron, I think he knows." Hermione smiled. "But it's sweet of you to offer. If you hear anyone saying anything nasty about me when I'm not around, then you can fight for my virtue, all right?"

"Oh, all right."

"Can _I_ slap him?" Ginny asked, taking steps to calm Harry down by wrapping her arms around his waist and snuggling against his back. "Michael, I mean. It's in such bad taste to make a pass at one of my friends, after I dumped him."

"All right, I suppose you can slap him," Hermione said, since Ginny was certainly entitled to do so. "But only once. Or twice. Don't get excessive about it." It felt so good to know that her friends loved her and would defend her, even against something as minor as a slur on her honour.

"I'll be a perfect lady." Ginny produced a patently false look of innocence. "I'll walk up to him, utter a few choice but profanity-free words, slap him in the accepted forehand-to-the-cheek fashion, and stalk away."

Harry beamed. "Isn't she wonderful?"

"I like her." Hermione smiled fondly at them both. The two of them seemed set to last, thank whatever powers might watch over such things. Harry needed someone steady and practical.

Ginny smiled, and leaned over to give Hermione a quick, tight hug. "I like you too," she said affectionately. "I don't blame you for ditching the walking hormone, but I am kind of sorry I won't get you for a sister-in-law."

"Hey!" Ron said indignantly.

Hermione ignored him, returning the hug. "Well, you have more brothers," she said teasingly. "There's only two actually out of the running so far, including the hormone."

"Harry, make them stop that."

Harry snickered. "Say that to someone who doesn't know you sneaked up to bed at three in the morning last week."

They all looked at him, and Ron blushed furiously. "Shut up," he mumbled.

Hermione laughed with the others. She loved Ron dearly, and always would, but a brief romantic relationship had been enough to prove once and for all that simmering chemistry did not a romance make. It'd been fun while it lasted, though.

"I will not shut up, you - " Ginny broke off and straightened up hurriedly. "Neville! What happened to you?"

Neville had just entered the common room, his nose swollen and dribbling blood. "I'b fide," he said, looking embarrassed. "Herbiode, could you do thad charb for be, please?"

"_Episkey_." Hermione touched the tip of her wand to his nose, which promptly deflated. "Neville, what happened?"

He shuffled his feet. "I was in a fight," he said sheepishly. "I lost."

"Why were you fighting?" Ginny pulled out her own wand to clean up the blood. "_Tergeo_."

Neville frowned. "I heard Michael Corner call Hermione a... a rude name," he mumbled. "So I punched him in the face."

"Oh, _Neville!_" Hermione hugged him and kissed his cheek, making him turn even redder with happy embarrassment. "That's so sweet!"

"Oh, it's sweet when _he_ does it, but you won't let us!" Ron grumbled, but he joined Harry in patting Neville on the back as Ginny hugged him tightly. "Good for you, mate, he was begging for it."

* * *

Later, curled on her side in her bed, Hermione rested a hand over the slight swell in her abdomen. "You're going to be very lucky, you know," she whispered. "You're going to have lots of aunties and uncles who'll love you like mad. And your Nana and Grandpa can't wait to see you, and I'm going to love you more than all of them put together."

Even if your father doesn't want you.

She never said the words aloud, was determined never to say them in the presence of her child before or after birth. She couldn't blame him for not wanting to be reminded of a meaningless encounter he couldn't even remember. She couldn't blame him for not wanting to forgive her for what she'd done.

She just wished she could forget him as easily as he'd forgotten her. That she could stop wishing for the impossible.

* * *

Later still, Severus stared up at darkness too thick for him to see through and tried not to think about her.

Draco was drawn to her. She'd never have him, of course. But if she did... why not? He would treat her well - even Lucius, for all his faults, had doted on his sentimental wife. At least that tradition of chivalry had survived his family's madness.

He would even treat the child well. Draco _liked_ children.

Or perhaps she would rekindle her relationship with Ronald Weasley. The Weasleys would welcome both child and mother with open arms. And if Ron wasn't up to scratch, there were at least three or four male Weasleys who were not yet committed... she might choose one of them.

Or she might find some wizard as yet unknown to her... young and strong and handsome, who would sweep her off her feet and probably stay faithful to her for at least a year or two before his eye started to stray.

Severus rolled onto his side, thumping his pillow. If only she'd found that young, strong, handsome wizard in July. Then he wouldn't have been in this invidious situation. Then he could have gone on thinking of her as Potter's annoying, bushy-haired sycophant, never looking below the surface.

He wished he hadn't forgotten what had happened between them. Maybe if he could remember, it would be easier to remain angry at her. Or at least easier not to think about her.


	8. Chapter 8: 7th Verse, Same as the First

**Chapter 8: Seventh Verse, Same As The First.**

* * *

"Hermione? Could you do me a favour?"

"Of course," Hermione said automatically, falling into step beside Harry as she tried to push her Arithmancy textbook into her already bulging bag. "What is it?"

"Well, for a start, stop agreeing to things before you know what they are," Harry said, grinning at her and taking the bag away. "This weighs a ton, Hermione..."

"Then let me carry it."

"No, it's fine." He hitched it onto his free shoulder, wincing. "Anyway, we've got a Quidditch practice this afternoon, but there's a storm on the way. Would you mind distracting Ron while I'm gone? Giving him some help with his homework and stuff?"

"Of course." Hermione winced. "How bad is it?"

"Do you see him coming with us to Transfiguration?" Harry said pointedly. "He was already limping when he came out of Potions this morning. He had lunch in the common room and McGonagall said she'd run him through Transfiguration tomorrow afternoon."

"I'll give him a copy of my notes," Hermione promised. "Has he seen Madam Pomfrey?"

"She gave him a potion to dull the pain, but she said there was nothing else she could do." Harry shrugged a bit forlornly. "He's going to be cranky tonight."

He was.

Ron had been badly hurt in the Final Battle (which had actually been two days of constant running skirmishes), having both legs and his pelvis crushed under a chunk of falling masonry. The damage had been repaired, naturally, and most of the time he didn't even limp except when he was tired... but when the weather was bad his joints ached, and when a real storm was coming he could barely stagger.

When the rest of the team - including the substitute Keeper - had trooped out of the common room, Ron sat propped up on a couch, glowering at the window. "It's perfect flying weather," he grumbled. "And it's not that bad, now that I've had the potion. I'd be all right."

"You'd fall off your broom," Hermione said as kindly as she could. "It's not so bad with your legs straight and a warm blanket on them, but if you were out there in the chill, you'd stiffen up in a few minutes."

Ron scowled, opening and eating a Chocolate Frog with vindictive energy. "I didn't even get out of Transfiguration. I have to do it tomorrow afternoon, if the weather's better. It'll be like _detention_."

"At least you didn't have to go this afternoon," Hermione said, frowning at him. She'd pulled an armchair over next to his couch, intending to keep him company, but she'd learned from experience that if Ron's self-pity wasn't interrupted firmly, it could go on for hours. "I went to all my classes even when I was throwing up three or four times a day."

"Yeah, well..." Ron looked mutinous. "It's not the same."

"I know, I know." Hermione sighed and shook her head. "Look, I'll help you get your homework done. If we get enough done, you might have time to go out and do some extra training tomorrow or the next day."

She managed to coax him through the Charms homework, but then his mood slipped from defiant to morose. "I don't know why I'm even still on the team," he said sadly, looking forlornly at the window. "Harry knows I can't play in bad weather. He should just kick me off and let Baines be Keeper properly. She's good... and she doesn't get nerves."

"Of course Harry won't throw you off the team," Hermione said soothingly. She offered up a quick prayer of thanks to any deity who might be listening that she and Ron hadn't lasted as a couple. As a friend, she could cope with his constant need for reassurance. As a girlfriend, it had gotten very tired very fast. "You're brilliant when your joints aren't playing up, you know that."

"Yeah, but they're not going to get any better," Ron said, heaving a despairing sigh. "The rest of the team are going to hate me, because I only show up half the time. Don't blame them, really. Bet they want Harry to throw me off."

"Throw a genuine war hero off the Quidditch team because of injuries sustained while fighting Voldemort and saving the wizarding world? Don't be silly," Hermione said bracingly. "Between you and Harry, the Quidditch team has never been so cool."

Ron preened. "Yeah, well... I didn't think of that," he said, looking happier. "Hey, you want to play some chess?"

She didn't, really, but it was better than listening to him moan. "If you like. But you've got to promise not to gloat when you win."

"When do I ever?"

They were halfway through the second game when the portrait-hole opened and Ginny clambered through. "It's bloody freezing out there," she said cheerfully. "Good practice, though, overall. Harry's tearing his hair out over the new people, as usual, but I don't think he needs to worry."

"'Course not," Ron said cheerfully, the gloating having put him in a good mood. "We've got a great team this year, especially when the weather's good."

"That's what we said," Demelza agreed, climbing through behind Ginny. "But you know him, he worries."

"Only about Quidditch," Hermione said a bit snippily. Spending an evening trying to reassure Ron instead of getting her homework done was really starting to wear on her nerves. Especially since everyone else in the common room had been giving both of them a wide berth, presumably because they didn't want to listen to Ron feel sorry for himself either. "Everything else he just leaps in with a happy optimism and trusts things to work out."

There was a momentary pause. "Well, we've all had a long afternoon," Ginny said, with what passed for tact among Weasleys, as Coote and Peakes climbed through the portrait-hole, arguing about something. "Ron, how are you feeling? Up for coming down to dinner?"

"I'm still a bit too stiff, I think," Ron admitted, shifting and wincing a bit. "But Madam Pomfrey gave me a potion to help me sleep, and I should be all right again by morning. And McGonagall said I could have a house-elf bring me up something."

Ginny snickered. "And extra helpings of everything, if I know you." Ron threw a cushion at her, which she caught easily. "All right, all right... I should go get changed, we've not got long. Hermione, don't let Harry work himself into a fit while I'm gone." She looked over her shoulder at the shock of messy black hair that had just appeared.

Harry had just made it through the portrait hole, looking very harrassed, when Baines called out from the hallway. "Hey, Harry! There's something out here for you!"

Ginny immediately reversed direction, heading for the portrait hole instead of the stairs. "If it's another pair of knickers from a fan," she said crossly, "I'm going to set them on fire. Honestly, some people..."

Ron sat up, looking interested. "_Another_ pair of... Hermione, go out and see what it is."

"Oh, all right," Hermione said, following Ginny. She was actually quite interested - Harry occasionally got some really odd presents from his admirers. The pink lacy knickers had been entertaining, but the tiny model of a naked Harry posed seductively and carved from (as closely as she could determine before Harry snatched it away) a turnip, had been hysterical.

"Red box and a gold bow," said the lanky Baines, offering Harry the gift. "Just like the last... four? Five?"

"Four. The one before that was gold with a red bow," Ginny said, grinning. "Good size, too, it's probably not another turnip."

Harry blushed scarlet. "Look, I don't need to open it now..."

"Mud! Filth!"

"Oh, God..." Norah Baines moaned, covering her eyes. "Not him..."

Argus Filch had clearly followed the trail of muddy footprints up to the Tower and seemed delighted to have caught them outside the safety of the common room. "What are you up to? Loitering around in the corridor... aha!" Harry had been too slow, and the box was snatched from his hands. "Contraband!"

"It's not contraband, it's just some stupid present from a fan," Ginny said, while Harry blushed horribly and looked down at the floor. "They show up all the time."

"That's what you say," Filch said suspiciously, opening the box. There was a lump of something woolly inside it, in luminescent Chudley Cannons orange. Filch scowled, poking at it with a gnarled finger. "Could be anything in here, could... could be..."

He made a gagging sound, dropping the box. His eyes rolled up and he crumpled to the floor, clawing at his throat.

The Fat Lady shrieked in horror, pressing her hands to her pink satin bosom. There was a babble of nervous voices from the Quidditch team, and Harry stepped towards the fallen box.

"Stay away from that! Ginny, put a shield over that box and keep it there no matter what!" Someone was barking orders. Hermione thought it might be her. "Baines, run and get my bag, it's next to Ron's couch. Harry, you're the fastest... go get Professor Snape _now_! Mr Filch has been poisoned!"

Harry stared at her for a moment, and then bolted down the corridor, red robes flapping behind him. Ginny was standing over the box, her face pale, and Baines had already disappeared. Hermione knelt beside Filch, who was starting to convulse. "Mr Filch! Can you hear me?"

He couldn't, or couldn't indicate that he did. The seconds seemed to take hours to pass until the Fat Lady's portrait swung open again, spitting out a tide of excited Gryffindors and - thank god - Baines, holding Hermione's bag aloft like a flag. "I got it! I got it!"

Hermione snatched it away, ripping the flap in her haste as she rummaged through it. Come on, come on... there! She ripped the small pocket as well, but came out with a small, shrivelled thing shaped like a bean. "Dean! Hold him!"

Dean knelt beside her, holding Filch's shoulders down so he couldn't flail away from her. Hermione pried his mouth open, getting her fingers chewed a bit in the process, and shoved the bezoar as far back as she could. Filch gulped and choked... and then he went limp, the convulsions fading.

He'd thumped his head against the stone floor several times, and Hermione moved around to pull his head onto her lap. "It's going to be all right, Mr Filch," she murmured reassuringly, as his eyes drifted half-closed. She looked around the crowd, and pointed. "Coote! Run to the infirmary and tell Madam Pomfrey what's happened, and that we'll be there as soon as possible." Coote took off at once, running almost as fast as Harry had. "Peakes, you go and fetch the Headmistress," she ordered the other Beater. He nodded, and trotted off without a word - not as fast as Coote, but at a pace he could maintain all the way to the Headmistress's office.

Filch moaned softly, and she rested what she hoped was a soothing hand on his forehead. "It's all right, Mr Filch," she said, trying to sound reassuring. "Professor Snape will be here soon. He'll know what to do."

* * *

The door to his office slammed open, and Severus spattered ink right across a first-year's essay when his hand jerked in alarm. He saw Potter in his doorway and fury propelled him up and out of his chair. "Potter, what do you think you - "

"Professor... 's Mr Filch," Potter wheezed. He was alarmingly pale, drawing in great sucking gulps of air as if he'd just run a marathon. "He's been poisoned..."

Anger could wait. Severus grabbed the antidote kit that was always kept ready, reaching the door in two strides. "Where?" he snapped.

"Gryffindor Tower... front of the Fat Lady," Potter said, chest still heaving. Had he sprinted all the way down from the tower? "Hermione said get you..."

Severus was already racing up the stairs when that penetrated his mind. Hermione had sent Potter down to get him, something the boy had obviously done at a run most or all of the way. Panting could easily be faked, rattling wheezes and greenish pallor took some time and preparation. He'd had no idea she had sufficient influence over the trio's fearless leader to induce him to not only seek out the teacher he loathed most, but to speak to him almost politely. Well, wheeze to him politely.

He was wheezing himself when he reached Gryffindor tower, having left a trail of scattered students in his wake. He'd actually cannoned into two - one had been sent for the Headmistress, one to the hospital wing to tell Madam Pomfrey to prepare for a patient.

Or a body. How many minutes had it been? How fast-acting was the poison involved?

He heard the panicked babble before he was in sight of the Fat Lady's portrait, and scowled, trying to force his aching legs to move faster. Typical Gryffindors, standing around babbling instead of doing something useful...

"Go get me a chair." A voice raised above the babble. "Yes, a _chair_, Demelza, go get one." Hermione, naturally, as strident as usual. "The rest of you, back up a bit." Then her voice softened, and he would have missed it if the chatter hadn't quieted a little when she spoke. "Mr Filch? Can you hear me? It's going to be all right."

Severus pushed through the crowd, which melted away as they turned and saw him bearing down on them. In the middle of the corridor, Hermione Granger was sitting on the floor, Filch's head cradled in her lap and a small hand smoothing his thin grey hair back gently. Filch's rheumy eyes were half-closed, and there was froth around his mouth, but he seemed quiet. "What happened?" Severus asked, dropping to one knee to examine the caretaker's grey face.

"That." Hermione pointed, and he saw Ginny Weasley standing guard over a box with something orange spilling out of it. "It had Harry's name on it, but Mr Filch insisted on looking inside, just in case. The minute he touched it, he collapsed." Filch stirred, and she made a little cooing noise, touching his forehead. "I gave him a bezoar, and he seems quiet now, but..."

He gave her a startled look, even as he took in the bluish cast to the foam, the faint smell of rotten cherries on Filch's breath, and the tell-tale faint glitter on the orange fabric. "You just happened to have a bezoar on your person?"

"In my bag." She indicated that article, which had clearly been all but pulled inside out in a frantic search. "Ever since Ron was poisoned last year, I've never gone anywhere without one."

"A sensible precaution," Severus muttered, checking Filch's pulse. Weak but steady. "Aqua Nitidus. Not the fastest-acting poison, but very painful." And not common enough for him to have an antidote in the kit... he shoved it into a pocket, where at least it would be out of the way.

"I thought so, from the smell and the bluish foam," Hermione said soberly, still stroking Filch's forehead gently. A smallish Gryffindor... Robbins, that was it... appeared with the requested chair, and Hermione fished out her wand. With a brisk tap and a mutter, the sturdy wood and wool of the chair were transformed into an equally sturdy-looking stretcher. "There. Professor Snape, will you help me get him onto it?"

"Of course." Severus watched her as they shifted Filch's limp body onto the stretcher. She handled the caretaker's body with a gentleness that surprised him, as did her murmured reassurances. He'd been under the impression that Filch was loathed by the students as a whole, and the rule-breaking Gryffindor trio in particular. "I have sent students to notify Madam Pomfrey and the Headmistress of the situation."

"Yes, so have I," Hermione said absently, folding Filch's arms gently across his stomach so they wouldn't hang over the sides of the stretcher. "And Harry to get you, of course. Dean! Seamus!" She pointed imperiously at the stretcher, and the two boys meekly complied, lifting it with a grunt or two of complaint. "Carry him _carefully_," Hermione said, giving them both a warning look.

Severus had to work at maintaining his usually impassive expression. He knew Hermione could act quickly and decisively when need be - he'd seen it during the War. But somehow it came as a surprise here at school, where she'd always so blindly followed Potter's lead. He'd never seen her take command before. Perhaps there was more to the girl than he'd assumed. He almost offered her a hand, as he rose to his feet and she tried to do the same, feet apparently tangled in her robes... but he remembered himself in time, turning to look critically at Finnegan and Thomas. "Keep the stretcher level and don't jolt him," he ordered sharply. They stared at him. "The infirmary. Move."

They jostled into action as Hermione reached her feet, still swaying a bit. "Someone should really find Mrs Norris," she said quietly - and with no more warning than a momentary catch in her voice, her eyes rolled up and she crumpled.

"Hermione!" He wasn't sure who uttered the exclamation... Miss Weasley, perhaps... but Severus was the one who caught her, startled by how slight her weight was and how easily he held her steady.

"Mum warned me about this." Miss Weasley was at his elbow as he bent to slide an arm under Hermione's knees and lift her into his arms. "Excitement, I mean. She said fainting spells aren't uncommon when someone who's pregnant has a bit of a shock..."

Severus scowled down at the unconscious girl in his arms. Pregnant. Was it impossible for him to go two minutes without being reminded of her current condition? "I will take her to the hospital wing," he said sourly. "Miss Weasley, you will remain here and guard that until a teacher comes to remove it safely, do you understand?"

"Yessir." She moved back to her position by the gaudy box, giving Hermione one more worried look.

Severus hitched Hermione more securely into his arms and followed Finnegan and Thomas... who, naturally, had stopped when they realised he wasn't with them and were standing around looking gormless. "Are you waiting for the hospital wing to come to you, gentlemen?" Apparently his tone made his point for him.

It was only a minute later, as he followed the Gormless Gryffindors, that Hermione stirred in his arms. "What on earth..." she mumbled, and he looked down to see a decidedly bewildered expression on her face. "What happened?"

"You had an extremely inconvenient fit of the vapours," he snapped, hoping his voice sounded annoyed instead of strained. She didn't feel nearly as light after he'd had to support her entire weight for a couple of minutes.

"I _fainted_?" She blushed furiously. "Oh, dear... I'm sorry, Professor, I really am. I don't know what happened - I never faint. Not normally, I mean."

"According to Miss Weasley, it is not an unusual event for those in... a delicate condition."

To his complete surprise, she made a small, rude noise. "That's a stupid and horribly inaccurate phrase. I'm quite sure it was invented by a male. 'Interesting condition' works... if you mean interesting in the ancient Chinese curse sense... but there's absolutely nothing delicate about it, believe me."

"If you say so." He had to resist the urge to smile at her obvious indignation.

"I do say so." She wriggled a little, and his arms tightened automatically to prevent him from dropping her. When he looked down at her, her eyes were rather wide. "I think I can walk now," she said, in a very small voice. "Thank you."

For one insane moment he was tempted to continue carrying her. She wasn't really all that heavy, and it was... not unpleasant... to have those wide brown eyes gazing up at him. But said wide eyes were situated a short distance above a set of student robes, and the moment passed. He tipped her rather unceremoniously onto her feet, keeping a precautionary hold on her arm. "Any lingering dizziness or weakness?"

"No, Professor." She still looked a bit pale, but she kept pace with him as they followed the stretcher. "Will he be all right? It was at least a minute before I got the bezoar into him..."

"He should be, although his recovery will be prolonged." Severus glanced down at her, surprised anew by her apparently genuine concern. "As you should know, if you have been keeping up your studies."

"I have been," Hermione said earnestly. "But Mr Filch isn't exactly young and healthy, and he's got that persistent cough..."

She'd noticed the cough? "He should recover fully in time. The enforced rest might even do him some good."

Hermione nodded. "I'll have Crookshanks find Mrs Norris," she said absently, rubbing her hands together. "He's good at finding people, or other pets. She'll fret if she can't find him."

He stopped, and reached down to grasp her slender wrist. She froze, staring up at him with wide eyes as he lifted her hand and turned it over. Pink, puffy dints in her flesh showed where teeth had sunk into her fingers more than once, the pink already shading into purple where bruises would form. "You were bitten while getting the bezoar into his mouth?"

She blushed, tugging her hand away and concealing it in the heavy sleeve of her robes. "It's nothing. It didn't even break the skin. You know, I feel perfectly all right now, I really don't need to go to the hospital wing..."

"Probably not. However, Madam Pomfrey would never forgive me if I failed to deliver you after you swooned so dramatically into my arms." He resumed his brisk walk, turning his mind firmly to the antidotes that Filch would need... some he had in his stores, but some had to be brewed freshly. Even as he pondered the problem, though, he couldn't forget the girl trotting along beside him, an expression of sweet concern on her face for the single most loathed man in the school, not excepting even the dread Potions master himself.

* * *

"So. Someone's trying to kill Harry again."

"Looks that way." Harry nodded in agreement to Ron's bald statement. "Seems to be the same M.O. as Malfoy was using last year - poisoned presents."

Ron frowned. "Emmo?"

"M. O., Ron. Modus Operandi," Hermione explained absently. Pointedly flouting the rules, they'd all retreated to Harry's bed for some serious plotting, pulling the curtains and casting a sound-blocking charm on them. "The same problem as last year, too... it's too easy to get the wrong person."

"So either whoever it is isn't bright enough to realise that the plan might go wrong, or they don't care," Ginny said, frowning. "How likely is it that they'll stop when this idea doesn't work?"

"Not terribly." Hermione fiddled absently with her hair. "Aqua Nitidus is almost impossible to buy - anyone desperate enough to go around buying deadly poisons will usually go for something faster-acting or harder to identify. It can be absorbed though the skin, of course, but so can loads of others. Offhand, I can only think of one reason to use it."

"Which is?" Harry gave her an inquiring look.

"Any third-year or above can make it if they know how," Hermione said flatly. "Quickly, and with only the contents of his or her standard Potions kit."

"Blimey," Ron said quietly. "It's a miracle Malfoy never used it on one of us, then."

"I doubt he'd know how. Aqua Nitidus is a... a _cheap_ poison. Low-class." Hermione nibbled absently on a fingernail. Madam Pomfrey had healed the bites on her fingers, but they still felt a little stiff. "I read about it in one of the books in the Library... _Common Perfidy: A Study_. It was all about poisons and hexes used by poor, 'common' wizards and witches last century."

"So it was either someone whose family was low-class last century, or someone who reads. That's a big help," Ginny said, looking disgruntled. "Basically, it could be anyone."

"More or less." Hermione pulled the mangled fingernail out of her mouth and looked reprovingly at Harry. "You don't seem very worried."

Harry grinned at her suddenly. "Well, it's like you said," he said cheerfully. "I've spent my whole life with at least one person trying to kill me. Not having anyone after me was just making me jumpy, anyway."

Ginny and Hermione traded worried looks. That wasn't reassuring. Not at all.

* * *

"If it hadn't been for Argus's suspicious nature and Hermione Granger's quick thinking, the attempt might well have succeeded," Minerva said, clutching her delicate teacup as if it were a lifeline. "How could this happen? _Now_?"

Severus snorted, and everyone looked at him. "You don't seem surprised," Hooch said, her tone even terser than usual. "Expecting something like this, were you?"

"We all should have expected this."

Severus blinked. To his and everyone else's surprise, the words had come from Remus Lupin. Leaning against the fireplace, looking tired and worn as always, the werewolf shrugged. "If we had lost, would we have stopped fighting?"

"Never," Minerva said firmly. "But that's - "

"Different? Of course it's not different." Lupin straightened up. "Most of the werewolves see Voldemort's destruction as the most terrible catastrophe to strike them in centuries. He promised them freedom, and now they have been driven back yet again. I am sure there are... pure... humans who feel the same way."

"There are," Severus said, frowning. "There has been conflict within my House since the day the students returned... as I have informed you, Minerva, more than once."

"Yes, yes, I know." She ran a hand absently over her rigidly confined hair... there were threads of grey in it now. "I am sorry, Severus, I should have done more, but..."

"But what can we do?" Lupin said softly. "We can't expel a child because his or her parents were on what we would consider the wrong side. Half the bodies were lost or too badly damaged to be identified, anyway, and Severus could only name the Death-Eaters themselves, not the lesser servants and allies..."

"I would not suggest that you even try," Severus said grimly, weighting his words with threat.

"Of course we wouldn't," Pomona Sprout said firmly. "Just because there's a _possibility_ that _one_ student might want to kill someone..."

Severus snorted. "Students have been trying to kill other students since the school was founded," he said harshly, and was pleased to see Lupin's eyes drop in shame. "This is merely a more obvious... and more political... attempt."

"Severus, that is hardly helpful," Minerva said, taking off her glasses and rubbing the bridge of his nose. "How is Argus?"

"Recovering. It will be some time until he can resume his duties, however - clumsily prepared Aqua Nitidus is no simple matter to heal, at his age." Severus shrugged. "I have provided the requisite potions, but they cannot heal him in a day."

"I'm glad he will recover," Minerva said, taking a deep breath. "Please tell him to take as long as he needs to recover. Could you learn anything from the scarf?"

"Only that someone knew enough about Harry Potter to be aware of his predilection for a second-rate Quidditch team. The poison could have been prepared by any semi-competent."

"Wonderful." Pomona made a face. "We have a semi-competent assassin wandering about the school... or, possibly, we have a semi-competent _accomplice_ wandering about the school, and the real perpetrator is someone else entirely."

"That's the wonderful thing about Hufflepuffs," Hooch muttered darkly. "They always look on the bright side."

* * *

"What do you usually do?"

"Run along behind carrying the antidotes and begging them to be careful," Hermione said sourly. "They don't listen to anyone, Ginny, you know that."

The girls had retreated to Hermione's dormitory after the official Plotting had ended, to discuss the unsettling tendency of the boys to rush headlong and chortling into danger. "Not even you?" Ginny asked, looking worried. "I always thought... Ron always says that you're the one who's always telling them to be careful and coming up with clever ideas and stuff."

"Did Ron say that they were careful or put the clever ideas into effect?" Hermione asked, rummaging around for her knitting. Knitting was soothing, and her nerves definitely needed something.

"Well... now that I think about it, no." Ginny gnawed on her lip anxiously. "What are they likely to do?"

"Attempt to flush out the poisoner. Probably try to sneak into the Slytherin common room again. Take stupid risks and run around with the Marauders Map a lot." Hermione sighed, examining the tiny, slightly lopsided hat she'd been working on. It was pale green. Not that that meant anything. "They usually do."

"Bugger." Ginny rolled onto her stomach, resting her chin on her hands. "How do we slow them down?"

"Threatening to go to the Head of House used to work... sometimes. Stealing and hiding the Map and the Cloak might help, too, if you can manage it. I never could find a good excuse for digging through Harry's trunk, but you probably can."

"I'll think of something." Ginny grinned. "At least there's two of us now, right? It'll be easier to watch both of them."

"That's true." Hermione brightened a little at that. At least she wasn't going to be the _only_ one trying to look after The Boys. "And you can do the running around parts when I start slowing down."

"And if they do anything really stupid, I'll lay on the guilt about 'upsetting Hermione in her condition' and all that." Ginny nodded decisively. "Right. We'll just... have to watch them." She made a face. "How on earth did you keep them alive this long?"

"Sheer determination," Hermione said wryly. "And following them everywhere to protect them when things go wrong."

"I can try that, too." Ginny nodded. "And if all else fails, I'm pretty sure I can distract Harry from almost anything for at least a little while."

"No details, please, no details!" Hermione found where she'd left off and started knitting again. "How are things going at home, by the way? Your mum wrote to me a few weeks ago, but it was all baby-related."

"Pretty well, I think. Fleur and Bill are disgustingly happy, according to Mum... the twins are still the twins... Charlie's going to come home next spring... Dad's been dealing with a spate of cursed shoes..." She shrugged. "That's it."

"Life as usual?" Hermione frowned thoughtfully. "Nothing else?"

"Nope, that's everything. Why?"

"I just wondered."

* * *

"How are you, Argus?" Severus felt a little awkward, trying to make small talk, but he and Filch had had a guarded truce since his student days and had been allies of a sort for years. So Severus made time to actually look in on the man, when he brought up a fresh batch of the potions that Filch had to take several times a day.

"Those house-elves are no use at all," Filch grumbled. He looked cleaner than usual (Poppy Pomfrey scrubbed her patients unmercifully, as Severus had found out for himself on more than on occasion), but no less testy. "They keep the place clean enough, from what I hear, but they can't give detentions or scare off those filthy students from making their messes."

"I've been conducting extra patrols," Severus said in what he hoped was a reassuring way. "Hufflepuff alone has lost eighty points this week thanks to after-hours roaming."

That seemed to please Filch - he chuckled and nodded happily, leaning back against his pillows and scratching behind Mrs Norris's ears as she curled up on his stomach, watching him anxiously. "Gryffindor and Hufflepuff are always the worst. The Ravenclaws don't usually sneak out, and the Slytherins are hard to catch."

"That's as it should be." Severus examined the potion-bottles on the bedside table, noting which were full and which would soon need replacing. "Do you need anything?"

"Just to get back to work." Filch sighed. "Can't trust those students, not an inch... might burn down the school without me to keep an eye on them."

Suddenly, Mrs Norris's head went up, and she jumped off Filch's stomach. Skinny tail held high, she trotted out of the small curtained-off area and out of sight. Severus watched her go, eyebrows rising. "I was under the impression that she refused to leave your side."

"Only to get her dinner," Filch said, smiling fondly after the cat. "She doesn't like house-elves, see, she won't take food from them."

The curtains parted, and an enormous ginger tom ambled through, giving both men a lazy, disdainful look before jumping up onto the end of Filch's bed. There he sat as upright as a dumpy, fluffy cat could manage, managing to convey the impression of being on-guard. A moment later he was followed by Mrs Norris, mewing shrilly, and a small figure in student robes.

Of course. Who else?

"Hello, Mr Filch," Hermione Granger said brightly. She was carrying a dish of some brown, mushy-looking substance that reeked of old liver and some sort of fish. Severus had never seen anything that looked so nauseating, but Mrs Norris seemed passionately interested in the stuff. When Hermione Granger set it down on the chair beside Filch's bed, the cat leaped up and shoved her nose into it, purring rustily. Only then did Hermione look up and see him. "Oh! Er... hello, Professor Snape."

"What are you doing here?" Severus asked, and then frowned. What she was doing was blindingly obvious. What he really wanted to know was why she was doing it.

"Feeding Mrs Norris," she said, politely not commenting on the stupidity of his question. "Madam Pomfrey said she wasn't eating properly because she was worried about Mr Filch, so I brought her some of Crookshanks' food. She eats that all right, so I've been bringing her some every night."

"Muggle stuff," Filch said, watching Mrs Norris eat with some interest. "Full of... what was it?"

"Nutritional supplements," Hermione said proudly. "For a healthy, balanced diet. It's low-salt, vitamin-enriched and has fish oils in it to make her coat shiny. Crookshanks loves it. He won't eat the wizard kind." She gave the huge orange thing perched on the end of Filch's bed the exact same soppy look that Filch himself had turned on Mrs Norris.

"Her fur does look better." Filch reached out to stroke the thin grey back gently. "And she likes it, this Muggle stuff."

"I'll get some more for you when you're better, if you like," Hermione said, scratching behind a stubby orange ear. "Mum and Dad send it to me for Crookshanks, I'm sure they wouldn't mind sending some extra. She doesn't need to have it every meal, but three or four times a week, combined with fresh fish and so on, should keep her in good shape."

Severus watched this positively friendly discussion with an increasingly unsettled feeling. Filch did not normally converse with students. Students certainly didn't normally converse with Filch, let alone go out of their way to befriend Mrs Norris or put her in better student-hunting condition. Clearly, however, some sort of camaraderie had been built on the basis of their shared love for their intelligent and unattractive pets. "She'd like that, wouldn't you, my pet?" Filch was murmuring, as Mrs Norris licked her saucer clean. "You like the nice mushy food."

Mrs Norris purred, giving her saucer one more lick and jumping back onto the bed. Crookshanks immediately jumped off, clearly considering that Mrs Norris was now back on duty. Duty done, he butted at Hermione's leg, and then ambled over to sniff at Severus's robes with apparent interest. "Shoo," Severus said, glaring down at the cat. The cat gave him a long look, sniffed a little more to show that he wasn't paying any attention to anything said by someone so unimportant, then turned and flipped his tail pointedly at Severus as he walked over to rub against Hermione's leg.

"He's very intelligent," Hermione said apologetically. "But he's a bit rude sometimes."

"Indeed." He scowled. "If I may have a word outside, Miss Granger? I'm sure Mr Filch is tired."

"Of course," she said, as Filch grunted what might have been a farewell, most of his attention on his beloved cat. Hermione waved to him and followed Severus out of the curtained area, looking irritatingly demure even with a particularly ugly cat trotting along at her heels and orange fur all over the bottom of her robes.

He led her to the other end of the infirmary, which should be out of Filch's hearing, and scowled down at her. "Miss Granger, may I ask why you are so blatantly attempting to ingratiate yourself with Argus Filch? I assure you, it will not purchase lenience for you or your friends if he catches you in your next late-night jaunt."

"Mr Filch got poisoned in Harry's place," Hermione said, looking up at him seriously. "We owe him something, for that... and I didn't want him worrying about Mrs Norris. I mean, I have no idea why, but he _is_ awfully fond of her."

"Even so. Poppy Pomfrey could have fed the beast, or the elves could have brought food to Mr Filch to give to the cat." Filch really did love the cat... when the last one had died, at the venerable age of nineteen, he'd given so many detentions for 'looking cheerful' that Dumbledore had had to have a tactful word... and Minerva McGonagall hadn't dared to show a whisker for months for fear of setting him off again. It had been years before he'd been willing to take on a cat again, and Mrs Norris was nearly twelve already. Severus was therefore firmly in favour of anything that would keep the wretched cat alive for longer... except when Hermione was the one doing it.

"I'm hardly wearing myself to a shred in dutiful servitude," Hermione said a bit tartly. "Coming up to the hospital wing every night with a saucer isn't exactly a big strain, and it makes them both feel better. I think. It's hard to tell with Mr Filch sometimes, but he's definitely a bit less rude now."

'Less rude' to a student was practically a vow of eternal friendship from Argus Filch. Severus scowled. "Very well, Miss Granger, if playing Miss Nightingale is so enjoyable, by all means continue."

He strode past her, glad to be out of that particularly unprofitable conversation. Hermione was far too sentimental, that was the trouble. She didn't actually like Filch, she was just indulging her Gryffindor desire to be seen to be a Good Person.

And when had he started thinking of the chit as Hermione? Miss Granger. Miss Granger. He had to remember that.

* * *

_Hermione, _

_I was taken by surprise by your note, but it does not follow that the surprise was necessarily unwelcome. I would be happy to arrange a private meeting; if it is acceptable to you, I will meet you in the private upstairs parlour at the Three Broomsticks, at about two in the afternoon. As I'm sure you are aware, there are Certain People whom I would prefer not to run into in Hogsmeade. _

_Yours, etc._


	9. Chapter 9: Hogsmeade Afternoon

**Author's Note:** Once again, I apologize for this chapter being so late. It is entirely my fault... I fell behind on sending the chapters out for second-round beta. I'm trying to catch up now, and the Saturday chapter should be out on Sunday.

I will attempt to make up for all the delays by putting up an extra chapter or two for Christmas, if I can manage it. Remember, long and thoughtful feedback makes a lovely and inexpensive holiday gift for the authors you love!

* * *

**Chapter 9: Hogsmeade Afternoon**

* * *

Ditching the boys wasn't easy, even in Hogsmeade.

They had, with touching devotion, followed her into the apothecary, the bookshop and even into the small portion of Gladrags devoted to baby garments (where Ron had been quite taken with an orange romper suit with a Cannons emblem on the chest). Eventually, Hermione had to resort to drastic measures.

"I'm not an _invalid_." Hermione yanked the orange romper suit out of Ron's hands and dropped it disdainfully. "I can do my shopping without you hovering over me every moment!"

Ron gave her a wounded look. "But - "

"I will finish my shopping by myself!" Hermione said, snatching her bag of books out of Harry's hands. "Just because I'm pregnant doesn't mean I'm _feeble_. I'll meet you in the Three Broomsticks at four, and you can just amuse yourselves until then without hanging all over me like three... three sheepdogs!"

Harry opened his mouth to protest, but Ginny stepped in hastily. "Of course, Hermione," she said placatingly. "You just... uhm... take your time. We'll go to Honeydukes and... things." She dragged the boys away, and if she wasn't muttering something about hormones and letting Hermione have some time to cool down by the time they got to the door, Hermione would be very surprised.

Being pregnant seemed to be useful for more than fainting and throwing up.

She really did have shopping to do - getting measured for new school robes that would allow for her increasing size, for a start. And a couple of sets of everyday robes as well, since she was absolutely sure she was going to have to visit the Burrow at least a few times. But two o'clock saw her slipping into the Three Broomsticks and up to the small upstairs parlour. She knocked on the door, gnawing her lip as she waited for a response.

There was a long pause, and then the door opened. "Hermione. It's good to see you again." He was stiff and formal, but he stepped back to let her into the room, closing the door quietly behind her.

"It's good to see you too, Percy," she said, smiling up at him. "I've missed you."

Percy Weasley nodded uncomfortably, straightening his severely cut robes. "Are you well?" he asked politely.

"Reasonably so." She unfastened her cloak and smiled when he removed it from her shoulders with probably automatic courtesy. "Apart from... I don't know if you'd heard..."

"I am aware that you are currently expecting," Percy said, hanging up her cloak. He didn't seem to know quite what to do with his hands once he let go of it. "Congratulations, Hermione. It must be... difficult, balancing expectant motherhood with your schoolwork."

"It's not too bad so far... of course, things haven't really geared up for the N.E.W.T.s yet," Hermione said, smiling ruefully. "I feel so unprepared. I know you told me that you simply couldn't start preparing too early, for either O.W.L.s or N.E.W.T.s, but what with... everything, last year, I just didn't have a lot of time for revision."

"Of course." Percy fidgeted uncomfortably. "Er... how far along are you?"

"Seventeen weeks. The baby is due in early April, so I'll have time to get back on my feet and start revising before the N.E.W.T.s." Hermione looked down at herself. The bulge hardly showed under her robes, so far, but Madam Pomfrey had warned her that it would only be a few more weeks. "Professor McGonagall has kindly offered me a private room in the visitor's quarters for the end of my pregnancy and after the baby is born."

"That was very... considerate." Percy looked at her stomach, looking even more uncomfortable. "I cannot help but... er... wonder, if Ron has... well, failed to do what he ought to..."

Hermione huffed out a startled laugh. "No, Percy, don't worry. This baby is a Weasley-free production." She patted her stomach gently, and then looked up at him, smiling a bit wistfully. "I really have missed you," she said gently.

Percy looked away. "Who asked you to contact me?" he asked stiffly. "My mother?"

"Nobody." Hermione shook her head when he looked at her dubiously. "Really, nobody. Nobody even knows I did contact you." She looked up at him hopefully. "We used to be friends, at least of a sort. And God knows you're the only person I know who understands how serious exams are."

That got a startled laugh from him. "I... yes, I suppose I am. Ron and... and Harry certainly never did." He sounded uncertain and guilty when he mentioned Harry's name, looking away from her again. "I certainly understand why you wouldn't give up the chance to take your N.E.W.T.s, even... under the circumstances."

"I thought you would." Impulsively, Hermione held out her arms. "And stop being such a great stiff lump and come here."

"I..." He dithered for a moment, and then Hermione was enfolded in thin, awkward arms. He tried to make the hug a brief courtesy, but Hermione was having none of that and she hung on around his waist.

"You're not looking after yourself," she said into his bony shoulder. "You're like me, you get caught up in work and don't remember silly, unimportant things like food."

"I've been busy." Percy patted her back awkwardly. "The upheavals in the Ministry since... well. There's been a lot to do."

"I'm sure there has." Hermione released him, but caught hold of his arm as he drew away. "Percy, feel free to tell me to sod off if it's too nosy, but I really want to know... what happened?"

He stiffened, but was too polite to drag his arm out of her grip. "I'm sure Ron has already told you."

"Ron has given me an extremely biased account that I consider one step above mere hearsay," Hermione said, with a disapproving sniff. "I want to know what _really_ happened."

He nodded slowly, and Hermione knew it had worked. She'd known Percy for years. Yes, he could be a git... all the Weasleys could, actually. If there was ever an All-Britain Git Championship, the winner would undoubtedly have flaming red hair, no matter what Ron said about Professor Snape. But there had to be more to the fight than that. And someone actually offering to listen to Percy was rare enough that she'd been sure he couldn't resist. "All right. I... will you sit down? Have some tea?"

"Very weak, please, with lots of milk." She sat down in the indicated chair, pushing her hair back absently. She really had to do something about that - it was more rampant than ever these days. "Strong tea seems to unsettle my stomach at the moment."

"Of course." He poured the tea and offered her a biscuit, the mechanical movements seeming to soothe him a little. "It was... you know I've always intended to go into the Ministry, and to do _well_, not just... coast along doing an easy job that I happen to enjoy."

Hermione nodded. "I feel the same way, you know that," she said gently. "I mean, not necessarily about going into the Ministry, but being the best at whatever it is I do. Really showing people what I can do. It's not going to be easy, with a baby, but I'm still determined. I'll just have to work harder, that's all."

"I wouldn't advise the Ministry, for you, not now," Percy said, apparently distracted for a moment from his own story. "Certainly not while the baby is young. Research might be better... you would be more likely to be able to keep the child somewhere close by. Or an apprenticeship in Arithmancy, perhaps."

Hermione nodded. "I'm glad you agree... I've considered both of those, and decided not to bother with the Ministry for at least five years."

"Good. Careful planning, that's the thing." Percy broke off a piece of his biscuit, crumbling it absently into his saucer. "You know what happened, with Mr Crouch... He had ordered me so sternly not to allow anyone to suspect he was ill - I thought I understood why. He was a proud man. He didn't want anyone to think he couldn't handle the job anymore. So I covered for him as much as I could."

Hermione nodded. It made perfect sense, and was probably what she would have done herself. She understood the fear of being seen to fail. "Under most circumstances, you would have been doing exactly what he wanted," she said softly. "You had no way of knowing he was under _Imperio_."

"No, I didn't. You wouldn't have thought that from the way my family criticized my efforts," Percy said, sounding slightly sulky. Then he sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose with his thumb. "After that debacle, I was afraid I'd wind up just... going through the motions, for months or years to come. I knew I could make a success of myself, if I just had a chance. And then, finally, I had one. A really good one. I thought..." He trailed off, looking away.

Hermione sipped her tea and ventured an informed guess. "You thought your father would be proud of you."

Percy glanced at her sharply, then laughed. It was a sharp, humourless sound. "Yes, I suppose I did. Foolish of me, really. I had hoped that joining him at the Ministry would at least equal the achievements of breaking curses for Gringotts or footling about with dragons somewhere off in the middle of nowhere. Not as cool, of course. But still worth something." He shook his head. "My father assumed... probably quite correctly... that I was simply a useful spy for the Ministry. That they didn't want me, they just wanted my family connections."

"And you were hurt." He gave her another startled look, and she snorted. "Oh, Percy... of course you were hurt! You wanted him to be proud of you and instead he belittled your achievement!" She reached out to give his hand a gentle squeeze. "Anyone would have been upset. It was a very thoughtless thing to say."

"I... have no idea how you knew that," he said slowly, his voice tight. "But... yes, I suppose I was hurt. And angry. To belittle me, after he'd worked so hard at _not_ achieving anything for so many years..." He looked into the parlour's small fireplace. "And he didn't, you know," he said bitterly. "We needed money, but he just couldn't bestir himself to make any sort of effort."

Hermione nodded, and kept her peace. Percy and his father were utterly different, anyone could see that after watching them together for five minutes. As much as she liked Mr Weasley, she didn't understand his lack of drive either. She would never loiter about in some dead-end position herself, no matter how amusing it was, and let her baby go without new books and robes that fitted properly.

"And there was all that talk about He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named rising from the dead, and Harry Potter claiming he'd seen it..." Percy tugged his hand through his red curls, making an exasperated noise. "Yes, I know it turned out to be true, but... it sounded so implausible, Hermione! People rising from the dead! Oh, I believed Harry had seen _something_ that had frightened him, but I thought he was just... just doing what Ron always does, exaggerating to get attention..."

"Harry doesn't do that," she said gently. "Ron does, I know, and I don't blame you for thinking it would be the same, but..."

"But I was wrong. I know that now." Percy sighed, pulling off his glasses and rubbing his eyes wearily. "It was just so... implausible. And everyone else in my family was just blindly trotting along, trusting Albus Dumbledore to protect them from harm." His mouth twisted. "You know, I might have believed it if it had come from someone else, but Dumbledore..."

Hermione blinked. "You didn't trust Professor Dumbledore?" she asked blankly. "But... why?"

Percy set his teacup in its saucer with a click, and set the saucer down on the small table beside his chair with a decisive thunk. "Why _would_ I trust him?" he demanded. "Oh, I won't deny that I benefited from his blatant favouritism but don't think I didn't see it for what it was! A Gryffindor as Headmaster, a Gryffindor for his second in command, a Gryffindor Head Boy, Dumbledore finding ways to slip extra points to his own House whenever he could; and to Harry Potter in particular, oh, nothing was ever too good for him! Of course Dumbledore would believe anything he said, his judgement was hopelessly skewed where his little Pride of Gryffindor was concerned!"

Hermione stared at him in shock. "But..." she said weakly. She'd been prepared to listen to Percy's version of events. She'd been sure that he'd had some sort of justification for what he'd done, at least in his own mind. But this...

"Don't tell me he couldn't have kept you away from that Philosopher's Stone thing if he'd wanted to," Percy growled, rising to his feet and starting to pace. "Oh, you three should never have gone near it, no matter what you thought you knew... but you were _children_! First-years! And he let you risk it... oh, I heard Ron and Harry discussing it. I know Harry believed that Dumbledore wanted to give him a chance to face down his own personal demon... at eleven! A little, helpless, squeaky child of eleven! With only my idiot brother and a gifted but Muggle-born girl who didn't have the first clue about what to expect!"

Hermione stared at him, her lip trembling a little. "It... wasn't like that, he didn't know..."

"And he encouraged it!" Percy continued, still pacing. "He let Harry Potter go on acting alone... if he was such a great wizard, if he was so all-knowing, why didn't he realise what was wrong with Ginny? Why didn't he help? Why did he leave it to Harry and Ron again... without you, this time!" He swung around, having reached the wall, and gave her an oddly wrathful, affectionate look. "I checked on you, you know, when I went up to visit Penny. I knew Ron probably wouldn't bother."

"Thank you," Hermione whispered.

"You're welcome. I always liked you... you understood how important learning was. God knows I'd have traded Ron for you any day, he was almost as big a disgrace as the twins." Percy resumed his pacing, the words boiling out of him. How long had he wanted to say this to someone? "Harry was so damned _proud_, after fighting that basilisk. Dumbledore encouraged him, somehow, I know it. Told him how brave he was, probably, how clever, a credit to his House... And it went on!

"In your third year, he actually dragged you and Ron out to face Dementors and convicts and werewolves and Merlin knows what else... I saw you brought in. Ron's leg was broken, and Harry was shaking like a leaf, and you were so deep in shock that you were paler than Nearly Headless Nick. And he damn well twinkled at you, for being such clever children, and he wouldn't let me stay with my own brother! Sent me off to bed like a good boy!"

He struck out in a new direction, so Hermione had to rise from her chair to keep watching him. "And in your fourth year! He could have been more careful, put the Cup in his office or somewhere else where it would be watched, but no, he left it lying around where anyone could meddle with it! Guarded by an _Age Line_! He let you and Ron be taken down under the lake - the spells could have gone wrong somehow, or the merpeople could have arranged a little 'accident' if the contestants angered them, it was so dangerous..."

His face was bright pink as he turned and pointed accusingly at Hermione. "You give me one good reason, just one, why I should have trusted Albus Dumbledore! Why I should have for one minute believed that he wasn't pandering to Harry Potter's delusions of warriorhood the way he always has!"

"I..." Hermione's lip quivered again. She'd never thought about it like that, not ever, and suddenly Professor Snape sneered at her again in the back of her mind, asking 'Is that why you deliberately avoid applying creativity in your work?'. She'd accepted what everyone said about Professor Dumbledore's wisdom and judgement without questioning it, even when it had put Harry's life or her own at risk. "I didn't think..."

Percy drew in a breath and then huffed it out, the pink fading from his face. "I'm sorry for shouting at you," he said penitently, offering her a handkerchief. "Please don't cry. I'm not angry at you... you were only a child for a lot of it, you were _supposed_ to trust him..."

Hermione wiped her eyes. "I just... everyone seemed so sure that he would save us," she said in a small voice.

"I wasn't." Percy snorted. "And I was right about that, wasn't I? I may have been wrong about He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, but not about Dumbledore. He swore Harry to secrecy, set him up to have to hunt down He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named alone except for you and Ron... and what about you two? Didn't bloody care what happened to you, did he, without all that special protection Harry seemed to have."

Hermione swallowed hard. "I... how did you know that part? That he swore Harry to secrecy?"

Percy fidgeted uncomfortably. "If you must know, I had Nymphadora Tonks let me know," he muttered. "She knows about... difficult family situations. She used to slip me a quick word on the quiet about how everyone was doing. Once it was all over, she sent me an owl to reassure me that everyone had survived, and tell me a bit about what had been happening."

"Oh." Hermione sniffed, and applied the hanky again. "That was nice of her."

"She is nice. Bit mad, of course, all the Blacks are." Percy shook his head. "But do you see why I did what I did?" he asked, almost pleadingly. "I didn't trust Dumbledore, and I was so angry with Dad, that... it all just sort of burst out, and then I walked out."

Hermione nodded. "And you wouldn't go home."

"Go crawling back?" Percy scowled, crossing his arms. "I have my pride, Hermione. They've all made it damned clear that they're glad to be shot of me... except Mum." As hard as he tried, he couldn't keep the hurt out of his voice, and Hermione frowned. What must it be like, knowing your own family didn't want you? "Well, I don't need them either. I'm certainly not going to beg them to take me back."

Hermione went over and hugged him again, and he hugged back less awkwardly this time. "I'm sorry," she said sincerely. "I hoped... I don't know, that I'd be able to help. But I can't blame you for not wanting to... to humble yourself when they're all trying so hard to show they don't want you."

"It's all right," he said, giving her back a gentle pat. "It's probably for the best, anyway. I never did get along well with any of them... except maybe Ginny," he added, a bit wistfully. "How is she?"

"Managing Harry to within an inch of his life," Hermione said, smiling a little. "He adores it. And she's good for him... she's got sense, even if he doesn't."

Percy leaned back, his eyebrows going up. "Hermione Granger, is that a criticism of Harry Potter? Don't you know that's blasphemy?"

Hermione laughed and sniffed again. "Percy, I love Harry, I really do. He's been like a brother to me for years, and I'd willingly walk into fire for his sake. But I do know him. He's thoughtless and socially inept and he's got no common sense - apparently the room in his head was needed for the extra reserves of bad temper. I love him, but I've never been blind to his faults. Neither is Ginny."

"Well. That's something." Percy sighed and shrugged. "I... thank you, Hermione. For contacting me, and at least letting me tell my side of the story for once, even if there's nothing you can really do to help my... family situation."

"If there is anything I can do, tell me," Hermione said softly. "I'm your friend, anyway, whether you're getting along with them or not." She handed back his handkerchief. "Are you still seeing Penny, by the way?"

"Yes." Percy smiled suddenly, a small but genuine smile. "We're... er... planning to get married. We haven't set a date, yet, but we got engaged last month."

"Good. I'm glad you're happy."

"Thank you." He tucked the handkerchief into his pocket. "I... forgive me, Hermione, I know it's a personal question, but..." He gave her a worried look, eyes dipping down to her stomach again. "Having a baby alone... well, it's going to be awfully hard, and there is a certain stigma involved... there's no chance that the father could be convinced to do the right thing, is there?"

"I don't think so. And I don't... feel as if he hasn't done the right thing. He has his reasons." Hermione bit her lip. Percy's honest, prissy concern seemed to draw the words out of her. "He doesn't... care for me. I knew that. But I wanted him to, and after the battle... well. I was stupid."

"Oh. Oh, I see." Percy nodded, and he tucked his hand under her elbow for a moment in a silent offer of support. "Hermione, I'm sorry. I know that must be painful. Is there anything I can do?"

Hermione managed a weak smile. "Invite me to the wedding," she said, wiping her eyes with the edge of her sleeve. "I'll sneak out if I have to - ditching Ron and Ginny isn't too difficult."

"I'll see what I can do." He smiled, and offered her the hanky again. "Here. I think you need it more than I do."

* * *

She was quiet at the Halloween feast. Severus tried not to watch her, tried not to worry that the Hogsmeade visit had tired her too much. She looked pale, and she didn't join in the chatter of her friends. Did they even notice the tiny signs of internal conflict? The way she kept nibbling on her lower lip, the way she systematically destroyed her food rather than actually eating it, the way her fingertips drummed on the table?

He dragged his eyes away from her and focused on his dinner, listening absently to the conversation between the past and present Heads of Gryffindor House. "Given the circumstances, is it wise to inquire?" Aurora was saying softly, a slight frown marring her usually placid face.

"That rule is in place for a reason," Minerva said firmly. He glanced sidelong at her... she looked upset. "No student is permitted to meet privately with anyone, student or not, in either the Three Broomsticks or the Hog's Head. She went up to a private room with someone - Rosmerta doesn't give names, under these circumstances, but it was a male person who is not a student and they were there for over an hour. As her Head of House, you must handle the matter as you see fit... but the matter must be handled, Aurora. I do not want a precedent set here."

"Very well." Aurora sighed. "I will have the girl come to my office after dinner, and I will ask her what she did and why. I won't press her for his name, if she was meeting the baby's father, but I'll explain the rule and impose some sort of punishment."

Hermione Granger. The girl had met a man at the Three Broomsticks, had spent over an hour with him in a private room. He pushed his plate away and reached for his wine, hand shaking. The girl had certainly duped _him_, with her wide eyes and her apparent guilt... after all, who else would she be meeting?

It certainly hadn't been him. Perhaps he should make some suggestions as to suitable punishment for such whorish behaviour.

* * *

Professor Sinistra had made a lot of changes to Professor McGonagall's office. Instead of being full of tartan and old books and paperwork, the room was draped with subtle brocades in black and silver and midnight blue, the furniture spartanly plain but perfectly proportioned and a pleasure to look at. It was a lovely room, if a bit too bare for Hermione's tastes, but she would have enjoyed looking at it more if she'd known why she was there. "Er... Professor Sinistra? Why did you want to see me?"

Professor Sinistra looked ill-at-ease, picking up and fiddling with a smooth stone that had been on her desk. "The Headmistress has asked me to handle this, as your Head of House," she said, a little abruptly. "She received a note from Madam Rosmerta at the Three Broomsticks. This afternoon you spent nearly two hours in a private room with a man who Madam Rosmerta did not name. You know that students are not permitted to conduct... meetings at the Three Broomsticks. I would like very much to hear your explanation."

Hermione blinked. "It wasn't a _room_," she said, blushing a bit. "I mean, not a... it was just the upstairs parlour!"

"Even so, the room was hired and the door was locked. For the purposes of the rule, it counts." Professor Sinistra sighed. "I won't press you for the man's name, if you have a good reason not to - "

"Percy Weasley," Hermione said promptly.

Professor Sinistra blinked at her. "_Percy_ Weasley?"

Hermione nodded. "I don't know if you've heard, but he's been estranged from his family for more than two years now," she explained. "He and I have always gotten along well, and I arranged to meet him hoping that I could convince him to let bygones be bygones. We only met privately because if Ron or Ginny Weasley saw him they'd explode... or at least be very rude."

"Oh." Professor Sinistra looked a little floored. "That was... well, perhaps not wise, but certainly a kind thought."

Hermione stifled a little grin. Hermione Granger and Percy Weasley - two generations of Gryffindor Brain. If Professor Sinistra could imagine the two of them getting up to anything even remotely naughty in Madam Rosmerta's upstairs parlour, she had a dirtier mind than Lavender Brown. Still, it wouldn't do to laugh... she was new at being a Head of House, and Hermione didn't want to put her off her stride during her first Official Chastising. "It didn't really work... he's still angry, and for some rather good reasons. Peace overtures will have to come from the others, I think."

"I see. I had heard about the family conflict, although I don't know any details." Professor Sinistra set down the stone, seeming to settle back into her habitual serenity. "You did, however, violate a school rule, even though it was for a valid and innocent reason."

Hermione nodded. "We would never have met in one of the actual sleeping rooms, of course," she said earnestly. "It didn't occur to either of us that the parlour would count. But I quite understand that rules are rules, and I am sorry."

"Of course, Miss Granger. And I do understand." Professor Sinistra inclined her head. "You will, however, receive a detention, to be served with me." She smiled suddenly, a sleepy, amused smile. "Wherein I will cruelly and gratuitously force you to assist me in marking first-year work. I assure you, it will be painful."

Hermione blinked and then laughed. "I imagine it will be!" she agreed, remembering Harry and Ron's pitiful attempts at filling out charts of stars and planets in their first year. "But I'll be happy to help. Thank you, Professor."

"Then you will join me here after dinner tomorrow," Professor Sinistra said, nodding in satisfaction. "I'm sure you can come up with an excuse for your friends."

"I'll think of something," Hermione agreed, standing up. "Goodnight, Professor, and thank you again."

"Goodnight, Miss Granger. Pleasant dreams."

Hermione slipped out of the office, letting out a little sigh of relief. She would have to come up with something to explain going to Professor Sinistra's office two nights in a row... a talk about Her Future, perhaps, or a discussion of how she planned to handle her studies when the baby was born. Safe, innocuous... they wouldn't arouse any suspicion in the others.

"Ten points from Gryffindor, Miss Granger." The grim voice came from her left, and she turned in surprise to see Professor Snape glaring at her. "For blatant unrepentance for your breach of school rules."

The unfairness of it made her fists clench helplessly. How did he even know? "I'm not unrepentant!" she said indignantly. "And you said you wouldn't take any - "

She stopped as he glanced sharply past her at the nearest portrait, which was listening avidly. "I imagine you would prefer that your day's activities did not become common knowledge," he bit out. "If you would, Miss Granger." He waved her through a door that opened onto a narrow stairwell leading to Gryffindor Tower's roof. Narrow, uncomfortable... but there were no portraits to listen in, and for once she wouldn't be the one looking up at him - if she stayed a few steps ahead, she'd actually be looking down.

Hermione went up six steps and then turned, folding her arms and turning to meet his eyes. "Professor Snape, I have no idea why you're so angry, but - "

"I am not angry," he said scathingly, slamming the door behind him and glaring up at her. "I am disgusted. You were very convincing when you visited my office before the beginning of term, Miss Granger, but carrying on with an unidentified man in a private room in a pub on your very first day outside the school gives me serious cause to doubt your claims!"

"I wasn't _carrying on_ with anyone!" Hermione's arms slid out of their defiant fold, her fingers knotting nervously. "I met Percy Weasley for tea! That was all!"

That startled him, and a little of his inexplicable fury seemed to fade. "Percy _Weasley_?"

"Yes, Percy Weasley. With whom, I assure you, I have never _carried on_, and he'd probably faint with horror if I suggested it." Hermione huffed out an annoyed breath, wondering what about this ludicrous mess had made him so angry. "He just didn't want Ron or Ginny to see him, so we had tea in the upstairs parlour."

"Why?" he asked, moving up a step or two, until their eyes were on a level. "Why meet with Percy Weasley?" He sneered at her. "Trying to engineer a family reunion?"

Hermione flushed. "Yes, actually. I've always gotten along well with Percy, and I hate the thought of him being all alone," she said defensively. "It didn't work, but he at least got to tell me his side of what happened."

Snape snorted. "Which I'm sure eased his mind enormously," he said, but some of the venom was gone from his tone. "Percy Weasley is better off without that pack of chattering, sentimental idiots hindering him."

"I think you might be right," she admitted, and he gave her a startled look. "Not about the Weasleys being chattering, sentimental idiots, but about Percy. I never realised how... uncomfortable he was with his family. He just doesn't understand them, and they don't understand him."

"No, they don't," he agreed. He seemed... off-balance, and she wondered if that would happen every time she agreed with him instead of responding angrily to his deliberate provocation. "I suppose it is too much to hope that you have finally learned not to meddle in the affairs of others."

"Much too much," she agreed, smiling brightly at him, and was rewarded with the slightest hint of a puzzled frown. "But any apologies won't be coming from Percy's side, I know that." Her smile faded, as she remembered why. "He gave me a lot to think about."

"Indeed?" That single sardonic eyebrow rose. "Did he assist you in planning your study-and-review schedule for your N.E.W.T.s?"

"No," Hermione said slowly. "He told me why he didn't trust Professor Dumbledore. He was... convincing."

"Really." It wasn't a question. The inexplicable fury was gone now, and he was watching her intently. "An odd time to begin questioning your loyalty to our former Headmaster, Miss Granger, months after his death."

"It is, isn't it?" She frowned, biting her lower lip thoughtfully. "But you were right. I don't... question things enough. I believe what I'm told, if it's by someone I think I should trust. It never occurred to me to question him, before."

"You should always question, Miss Granger," he said, his eyes intent and his face expressionless. "Especially those who seek to command you or control you."

"I should." She nodded, her hand automatically going to the front of her robes to touch the growing bulge that would all too soon be a separate person, entirely dependent on her. "I still have nightmares about that chess game, you know," she added quietly, meeting his eyes. "I wasn't afraid of the Devil's Snare, or the flying keys, or the troll, or even Fluffy really - I knew how to handle them. And I _liked_ the logic-puzzle. It was a challenge, but one I could understand. But I've never been any good at chess, no matter how hard I try to learn. Those chessmen are still one of the most terrifying things I've ever faced. And Professor Dumbledore let us go down to face them alone."

"He hardly let you, Miss Granger," he said dryly. "As I recall, you were warned repeatedly to stay away from that corridor, let alone the Philosopher's Stone. If you had notified a teacher - "

"They wouldn't have believed us," she said, and his eyes flickered slightly in acknowledgement. "Harry always believed that Professor Dumbledore... let him take his chance. Set it up so he could. And it worked - the Philosopher's Stone was safe, and Professor Quirrell died, and we bought three more years. But I still have the nightmares."

He looked at her for a long moment, then nodded briefly. "As do we all, Miss Granger. You should return to your common room." Without waiting for a response, he opened the door behind him and strode through it and down the hall.

She didn't mean to call after him, but she found herself doing so anyway. "Professor Snape?"

He stopped and turned, a little to her surprise. A year or two ago, she thought he would probably have ignored her. "What is it, Miss Granger?" he asked impatiently.

"Thank you," Hermione said, choosing her words carefully, mindful of the portraits listening curiously. "For finally managing to hammer into my head the need to... question."

He nodded and stalked away without another word.

Hermione went the other way, to where the Fat Lady was watching with interest. "Cotton wool."

"Hmph." The Fat Lady swung herself open, giving Hermione a disapproving look. She still hadn't softened on the idea of single-motherhood.

Hermione climbed through the hole, feeling suddenly very tired. It didn't help that as soon as she was into the common room, she was pounced on by Ron and dragged over to the others. "Hermione, where've you been? What happened?"

"Professor Sinistra wanted to make an appointment to talk about my plans for coping with the baby - I'm going tomorrow after dinner." Telling them that Professor Snape had taken ten points away would distract them immediately, but she found that she didn't want to. "She's still awfully new at this Head of House thing, I think she wants to practice on me a bit."

They accepted that quickly enough, and talk turned to homework and Hogsmeade. Hermione kept up her part in the conversation, but in the back of her mind the image of a pair of intent black eyes and an almost approving nod would not fade.

* * *

She had done it again. Taken his assumptions and whisked them upside-down with a few words.

He'd been so angry when he thought she'd conducted a blatant assignation at the first opportunity... angry with her for behaving so cheaply, and at himself for believing her in the first place; for merely taking her word for her child's paternity. He hadn't thought there was any excuse she could make, not this time.

And then Hermione had turned those bright, outraged eyes up to his, and he hadn't even needed to cast _Legilimens_... her offended innocence had been visible, almost tangible. She was absolutely unshielded, and that was a problem, but it did make reading her easy. Tea with Percy Weasley. Of all the stupid, interfering, good-intentioned things.

When she'd folded her arms it had pulled her robes tight against her... She was showing now, even if the voluminous student robes concealed it. He'd looked up at her and seen the soft swell outlined in black wool, and at the time it had only made him angrier. Now the image lingered in his mind, making his emotions swirl and tangle restlessly, until he couldn't be sure how he felt about it.

But what she'd said about Dumbledore, that had made him suddenly, fiercely proud. Finally that extraordinary mind was breaking free of its self-imposed limitations. She was starting to question, to really _think_.

Severus blinked, finding himself standing before the door to his office. He didn't even remember getting down here, he had been so absorbed in his thoughts of her. Frowning, he pushed her deliberately out of his mind as he passed through the door. Taking an interest in the girl was one thing - after all, there was the child to consider.

Letting her absorb him was something else. A mistake. He must be more careful.

And remember to call her Miss Granger, even in his thoughts, lest one day his tongue slip and betray him.

* * *

Hermione knew she'd left it too late when she saw Parvati and Lavender going up to bed. Usually she tried to be upstairs and in bed before they came up... it kept the snide remarks to a minimum.

She gave it another half-hour, hoping that they'd return the favour. No such good fortune, however... when she went in, Parvati was brushing Lavender's hair, the two of them gossiping quietly. Hermione hurried through her night-time rituals as fast as possible, but it didn't work... once she was in her nightgown, Lavender gave her a long, assessing look. "You're really starting to show," she said, in her faux sweet voice. "In a few more weeks, it's going to be obvious that you're pregnant, not just... you know... putting on a few extra pounds."

Hermione gritted her teeth. "Yes, isn't that nice?" she said with equal sweetness. "Of course, the student robes do cover a multitude of sins, don't they? A few extra pounds here or there..." She gave Lavender's hips a pointed look.

Lavender glared. Parvati, wisely, had opted to hop into bed and feign sleep as soon as the bitching started. "So... I got a letter from my sister today," she said casually. "Rose is working in the Ministry, now."

"How lovely for Rose," Hermione said, digging out clean underwear for tomorrow. "So what, exactly, was in the letter that you think is going to interest me?"

Lavender huffed a bit. "Well, she's working with a new girl called Cynthia. Cynthia Bunworth," she said, not bothering to sound sweet now. "She said that Cynthia and Ron had... er... a bit of a thing, while you two were dating. She only told me, of course, so she could tell me how glad she was that _I_ didn't get betrayed like that."

Hermione snorted. "Cynthia was only one of several," she said coolly. "Ron is sweet, but he can't keep his pants on to save his life. I'd assumed you knew that."

"I most certainly did not!" Lavender glared indignantly at Hermione, and then looked pointedly at her stomach. "_I'm_ not that sort of girl, thank you."

"Really? You spent all that time dating him and you didn't even have the benefit of the only area of boyfriend-behaviour he's really good at?" It was funny... she'd never really held Cynthia and the others against Ron. It had only happened whenever they'd had a potential-break-up fight and he hadn't been sure where they stood; he'd always confessed immediately, and in general it had all been very honest and above-board. But she still hadn't entirely forgiven him for the thing with Lavender. That had been _hurtful_. To Lavender as well as Hermione herself.

"I've always believed in waiting until I find someone I'm ready to spend the rest of my life with," Lavender said, climbing into bed with a deeply offended air.

"Well, that's stupid," Hermione said, climbing into her bed and arranging her pillows. Soon she was going to need one to rest her stomach on if she wanted to sleep properly.

"_Stupid?_"

Parvati sat up. "It's not stupid," she said reproachfully. "Why would you... well..." A bit belatedly she seemed to realise that that wasn't a tactful thing to say to the pregnant girl and trailed off awkwardly.

"I wouldn't buy a wand without waving it." Hermione sniffed disdainfully. "I certainly wouldn't commit to a man without doing the same. What if I wound up married to someone who was really dreadful in bed?"

Parvati's eyes went round with shock, and Lavender made a huffy noise, pulling her blankets around her ears and ignoring them. Hermione grinned, pulling the curtains closed around her bed and lying back. That had been funny, even if was probably going to backfire. Hinting at vast experience was only going to fuel the Hermione-Is-A-Slut rumours, which Lavender was probably behind. And it wasn't true... a half-dozen times with Ron and once with Severus Snape certainly didn't make her a woman of the world. A mother, yes, but not a woman of the world.

She heard a spiteful whisper from the direction of Lavender's bed. She couldn't make it all out, but the word 'married' was clear. Probably a nasty comment to the effect that Hermione would never achieve that particular state. And, of course, as a seventeen-year-old virgin with a taste for romance novels, Lavender was a real expert on the subject of mature, adult relationships.

Hermione thumped her pillow, curling up on her side. Anyway, so what if she didn't? There were more important things in life than dressing up like a doily and throwing an expensive party for people you didn't like much - or the wizarding equivalent, which was at least a bit more dignified if Bill and Fleur's wedding was anything to go by. Hermione had never particularly wanted to get married... probably unlike Lavender, who had almost certainly had her dream wedding planned out by the time she was six.

Hermione had no delusions about weddings being a necessary part of Living Happily Ever After. And she certainly had no intention of doing something as stupid as trying to find a father-substitute for the baby. She knew some women did that, and the notion was apalling. Just wanting a male figure in her child's life was a terrible reason to get into a relationship. Anyway, she had Harry and Ron, and the rest of the Weasleys; the baby wouldn't lack for male role-models. They might be of a rather low role-model calibre... especially the twins... but they were male and liked children. That would do at least for a while. (And Percy wasn't half bad, really, example-wise)

"Of course, if I'd been as morally upright and mature and responsible as this seventeen weeks ago, you wouldn't be here," she whispered, touching her stomach gently. "I suppose I'm closing the barn door after the horse is gone again. But I'm going to learn from the experience. I'm going to be as mature and responsible and moral as I can, from now on, to set you a good example. And I'm glad I have you, even if I didn't go about it very well."


	10. Chapter 10:Who Your Friends Are

**Chapter 10: Who Your Friends Are**

* * *

"Come in, come in! Sit down!"

Hermione found her feet leaving the ground as she was lifted into Hagrid's hut and tenderly deposited in the most comfortable chair. "You shouldn't be walkin' around in this cold, Hermione!" he said anxiously, rushing over to build up the fire. "It might be bad for yeh."

"I'm fine, Hagrid," Hermione said patiently, unwinding her scarf. "Actually, I don't feel the cold as much now as I usually do. It's like having an extra heat-supply."

"Hi, Hagrid," Harry said, grinning as he and Ron entered the cottage apparently unnoticed. "We're here too."

"O' course yeh are!" Hagrid beamed at him and thumped him on the shoulder, making his knees buckle slightly. "Lookin' after our girl, then? Not letting her carry anything heavy, I hope?"

"We try. But she keeps finding more books to carry around when we're not looking." Harry sat down at the table. "You know Hermione."

"Hermione is right here, remember?" She opened her cloak, looking down at her stomach ruefully. Even heavy winter student-robes couldn't hide the bulge by now. "And I'm fine, Hagrid, really. The second trimester is supposed to be the easiest, actually... I'm not feeling sick and tired anymore, and it's not too awkward yet."

Hagrid looked at her stomach with the misty expression hitherto reserved for Baby Norbert. "Do you know if it's goin' to be a boy or a girl yet?" he asked hopefully. "An' how long before it's born?"

"I'm due in about twenty weeks. And no, I don't know yet. I want it to be a surprise." Fang came to rest his huge head on Hermione's knee, and she patted him gently while trying to ignore the drool.

"Just as long as you don't, you know, have it in class or something," Ron said, shuddering at the mere thought. "I've heard stories about when Percy was born... Mum left it a bit late to call the midwife, and Dad wound up having to help. I love you, Hermione, but I'm _not_ doing that."

"I think we'll probably be able to get her upstairs to the hospital wing in time, Ron, no matter how late she leaves it. It takes quite a long time, doesn't it?" Harry picked up a rock-cake from the plate on the table and fiddled with it.

"Usually, yes." Hermione scratched behind Fang's ears, making him whimper happily. "Don't worry, I promise to go to the hospital wing in lots of time."

"Of course she will!" Hagrid filled his gigantic teapot, and started rummaging around for the milk jug. "And I'm sure it'll be a fine baby, boy or girl. I can't remember the last time there was a baby at Hogwarts!"

"It'll be kind of nice having a baby around," Harry said, smiling at her. "I've never really seen any up close."

"And have yeh picked out a godfather yet?" Hagrid asked eagerly. "'cause I reckon Harry'd make a cracking good one... and Ron, o'course," he added hastily. "But you've already got a big family, Ron, so..."

"Me?" Harry went a bit red. "I mean... I really don't know anything about babies."

"I had thought about that, yes," Hermione said, which made Harry go redder and Hagrid beam happily. "I haven't decided yet if I'm going to have godparents. If I do, though, Harry's certainly one of the first people I'd ask."

"Aw, Hermione..." He fiddled with his rock-cake, looking both pleased and embarrassed. "I'd... like that. I mean, if you did decide you wanted one."

"Or I will, if he doesn't." Ron grinned. "But he should get first go, Hagrid's right. I'm going to have lots of nieces and nephews anyway."

Hermione smiled at Harry, who returned it tentatively. She knew how much he longed to be part of a family, and privately decided to ask him to be the godfather as soon as she'd sounded him out on a few important topics like child-rearing techniques and Early Education. "I'm sure he'd do it very well." A large mug appeared in front of her, filled with Hagrid's tarlike tea, and she leaned back hastily. "Er... no thank you, Hagrid. Strong tea still upsets my stomach a bit."

"Right, right, o'course... rock cake?"

"Why not?" She hid it in her pocket when he wasn't looking.

* * *

"Severus, there is a crisis in the dormitory."

The speaker was a portrait - Eugenie Vignaux, the twelfth Head of Slytherin. Her own portrait hung in the Slytherin common room, where she watched all that went on, and whenever a serious problem arose, she alerted the current Head of her House. For that reason alone, Severus had hung two very small landscapes in his office and his bedroom, carefully warded so that no other portrait might enter.

"Thank you, Eugenie," Severus said automatically, rising from his desk. She didn't sound at all perturbed... but she never did. Madame Vignaux had once described the total destruction of several outbuildings and the deaths of three students as 'an unfortunate incident', and her own death as 'somewhat inconvenient'. If she'd actually used the word 'crisis', it was one.

"Sanguine" was the current password, and the wall obediently parted as he swept into the common room, glaring around him. The room was almost deserted - most of the students should be in their beds by this time. As soon as he entered, though, he heard shouts echoing down the passage leading out of the common room to the right... the boy's dormitories.

There was an outright brawl in progress in the fifth year dormitory. Gilles Mochrie and Alexander Astley had almost certainly been the cause; the two were fifth years, and had been at each other's throats since the beginning of term. It was inevitable - both of Mochrie's parents had served Voldemort, and been imprisoned for their trouble, while Astley's father had served the Ministry as an Auror for decades.

Both boys were now unconscious, however, and covered in assorted hex-marks, while their fight was being carried on by nearly every male Slytherin from fourth year to seventh. Hexes were flying, and so were fists, and even if he'd been in a mood to be reasonable, it would take more than sweet reason to break up this particular brawl. So he slammed into the room, hitting the door hard enough to make it crash back against the stone, and with an angry flourish of his wand he doused the entire room with a great splash of icy water.

"_What is going on here_?" he said, the words dropping into the sudden, frightened silence that filled the room.

"Just a friendly little political debate," said a drawling voice, as Draco sat up, running his hand through his now-dripping hair. "Which might have gotten a little out of hand, now that I think about it." He had a black eye - the left - and his left sleeve had been torn. Clearly at least one assailant had attacked the side he could no longer defend properly.

"A _little_ out of hand, yes," Severus said, glaring around the room. At least one person was trying to hide behind the beds, but a good number of the culprits had nowhere to hide, and were looking suitably cowed. "I am appalled. This coarse behaviour is what I might expect of Gryffindor or Hufflepuff, not the House of Slytherin! Brawling in a bedroom! Why not go outside and wrestle naked in the mud, if you are so determined to disgrace your House and yourselves?"

There was a faint mutinous mutter that he thought might have come from Malcolm Baddock, who had wholeheartedly agreed with his father's attitudes on purity of blood and the need for a firm hand to guide a sadly lost wizarding world. Severus whirled on him with a furious glower that made the boy cower back against the wall. "You are behaving like the spoiled children you are," he said, casting another disdainful look over the battered crew, all awake now and several whimpering in pain.

"You were on opposing sides in the war... what of it? In small struggles and in large, for wealth or for power or for knowledge, you will always find yourselves pitted against each other sooner or later. From your first year, you have conducted your small plots and intrigues within your House, learning the lessons you will need as adults. Do not shame me now by behaving like whining, self-righteous Gryffindors because you _didn't win_."

He strode to the centre of the room and yanked Astley and Mochrie to their feet, ignoring the boils on Mochrie's arm and the crusty muck on Astley's. "You will both stop trying to refight a war that is already settled _now_. You, Mochrie, remember that you are a Slytherin. Patience, guile, cunning - these are your tools, not brute force. The enemies of today may be the valued allies of tomorrow, remember that, and you will not change the world to suit your tastes by hexing it! As for you, Astley, I would advise you to be wary... victory today may become defeat tomorrow if you do not guard constantly against the next attack, and the next, and the next."

He gave both boys a firm but not too rough shake and let go, both of them crumpling back onto the floor. Turning slowly, he raked every student present with his glare. "You are not Gryffindors," he said harshly. "You know better than to subscribe to such juvenile notions as the _right_ side or the _wrong_ side. There are as many _sides_ in this room as there are people, and that is the way of the world. You are on your own side, always, and you can rely on nobody but yourself to remain on _your_ side. For now, prudence dictates an acceptance of the new status quo. It is expedient to demonstrate your loyalty to the current regime. In time, this will change, as it always does. When it does, I trust that those opposed to it will be prepared to act subtly and with the cunning suitable to their House!"

"Will you?"

Severus turned, ready to smite the questioner with a scathing insult... but Vincent Crabbe had earned the right to ask. He had been ordered away from the real fighting, sent along with several other elder sons or younger brothers to protect those wives and daughters who lacked the strength or the stomach for battle, along with the younger children. When Aurors had attacked the old Riddle mansion where they had been waiting, Vincent had fought to protect his friends and family. Gregory Goyle had died of the injuries he had sustained in that fight, and Vincent had never been the same since.

"That will depend, Mr Crabbe, on what form that opposition takes," he said smoothly, inclining his head. "I have found that serving madmen, however powerful they may be, is a losing proposition in the long run. And no matter what your families may have told you, gentlemen, the Dark Lord had begun to lose his grip on his sanity even before he was struck down by the infant Harry Potter. I saw his slide into madness beginning twenty years ago, and his death and resurrection only loosened his grip on reality further. He was a great and powerful wizard, certainly... but he was a dangerous liability in the end, to all of us.

"Many of you lost friend or family to his whims, or his punishments of imagined transgressions." There were nods at that, even from Crabbe himself. "Blind loyalty is for Hufflepuffs, gentlemen. A certain loyalty is to be maintained between members of a House, certainly... but only to a point. Were I ever to present a clear and personal danger to any of you, I would be greatly disappointed in you if you did not at least try to poison me. I expect no less of you when it comes to anyone else."

That eased the tension, as he had hoped it would. Several of the younger boys snickered at the idea of trying to poison their invulnerable Head of House, and even those who had sided whole-heartedly with Voldemort nodded to him without malice. He healed minor injuries with a few impatient taps of his wand, sent those suffering more serious hexes up to Madam Pomfrey under the guidance of Draco and Crabbe, and then went to check on the rest of his students. The younger boys were all out of their beds and obviously eagerly discussing the fighting they had been able to hear, if not see. A glare sent them tumbling hastily back into their beds, and he moved on.

Six dormitories in a row presented him with vistas of suspiciously angelic girls tucked into their beds, apparently fast asleep. They'd had plenty of warning of his approach, and he was pleased to know that even the first-years had mastered such rudimentary cunning as pretending to be asleep. His knock on the seventh door got an answer; it was opened by Pansy Parkinson, swathed in a fluffy pink dressing gown. Behind her, he saw Daphne Greengrass, Tracy Davis and Millicent Bulstrode sitting up in bed, the four of them obviously having been deep in discussion. "Hello, Professor Snape," Pansy said, smiling sweetly up at him. "Have the boys settled down?"

"They have, although the fifth-years may be sleeping in the common room tonight. Their beds are still soaked from the water I was required to drop on them to break up the brawl." He inclined his head politely. Pansy was a devious little baggage who he didn't trust an inch, but he did like the girl. "I am glad to see that the girls have not been indulging in such disgraceful behaviour. Your doing, I imagine."

The small compliment pleased her, and she gave him a more genuine smile. "I certainly wouldn't allow any brawling," she agreed, clearly proud of her firmly established leadership of the ladies of Slytherin. "At least, not within our own House."

"Brawling with certain other Houses is, unfortunately, difficult to avoid," he said smoothly, and Pansy grinned. "However, I trust that none of the girls will be caught behaving in an unladylike manner."

"I am sure they won't be," Pansy said demurely. And it was, indeed, most unlikely that they would be _caught_ doing something that would embarrass him. "May I assume that you gave the boys a stern enough lecture that they won't be doing this again?"

"If they do, they will regret it." Severus nodded, returning her smirk just a little. "I lectured them on the importance of choosing one's battles, biding one's time, and the necessity of reassessing one's loyalties when they begin to carry the risk of personal danger. I understand that you have already given the girls a similar lecture, so I will not waste my time by repeating it." Eugenie had reported on Pansy's lecture, which she had been in an excellent position to hear because Pansy had given it under her portrait, referring frequently to Eugenie's fine example of Slytherin womanhood - graceful, sophisticated, accomplished, and so devious that she had been well over one hundred years of age before an assassination attempt finally succeeded.

Pansy beamed. "I've done my best, Professor," she said, looking down the row of closed doors with a proud expression. "There's no point in dwelling on the past now, is there?"

"None at all." Pansy was very like her mother... Ameranth Jorkins had been rather older than Severus Snape, but he remembered her as a sweetly devious girl who had selected Pontius Parkinson as a suitable future mate and calmly nailed his feet to the floor with a betrothal agreement before he had time to get away. "Please inform the girls that their behaviour tonight did them credit... they did not join in with or encourage the fight, and they all pretended to be asleep very creditably." He smirked. "You might, perhaps, have a word with Miss Rowanwood. She feigns a dainty snore with a little too much enthusiasm."

"I'll have her work on that, sir. Thank you." She returned his polite nod, looking very pleased with herself. "Goodnight, Professor Snape."

"Goodnight, Miss Parkinson." He left the Slytherin's domain, frowning thoughtfully as he headed up to the hospital wing to see how things were going. Pansy - ably backed by Millicent - had secured the leadership of the Slytherin girls easily, and had them well in hand. The boys, on the other hand, were hopelessly divided now that Draco was no longer their acknowledged leader. Quite aside from his unpopular political stance and sudden tendency to go about flirting with Gryffindor know-it-alls, his maimed arm and the reason for it made his Housemates uncomfortable. Blaise Zabini couldn't take up the role - he was too biased and too lazy. Theodore Nott was too easily intimidated to even consider making a power-play, these days.

Perhaps if he hinted to Pansy that Crabbe would make an able deputy, she would be able to get both halves of Slytherin under her control. Crabbe wasn't quite as stupid as he was in the habit of appearing, and he might be happier with Pansy to give him orders and organize him properly.

* * *

"... and I expect your calculations to be completed and handed in by Friday." Professor Vector tapped the blackboard with her wand, cleaning the day's Arithmancy calculations off it but leaving the homework for the slower writers.

Hermione shoved her books into her bag, then tapped it with her wand, casting a levitation-charm just strong enough to ease the bag's weight a bit. Either she'd have to do that a lot more often, or she'd have to start going all the way back up to the tower at lunch time so she didn't have to carry the whole day's worth of books at once. Having extra weight on one side as well as in front was putting a strain on her back already.

"Damn it!" She heard a thump and looked around to see Draco kneel down to pick up his dropped copy of _Advanced Numerological Theory_. He was obviously having trouble wrestling it into his bag with only one hand for both bag and book.

"Can I help?" Hermione hitched her bag around to her back, trying to balance out the weight a bit. Maybe pregnancy was dulling her busybody urges a bit; instead of just leaping in, she'd actually remembered that doing that with a Slytherin could result in a bitten hand - or the verbal equivalent.

"If you must." Draco scowled, but let her hold the bag open so he could slide the book in. "I could manage - "

"But why make the effort when there's a stupid Gryffindor to do all the work for you?" Hermione grinned at him. "Feel free to tell people that you took advantage of my misguided helpfulness."

Draco gave her a startled look, and then laughed quietly. "Rudimentary, but still a decent attempt at manipulation. I'm impressed."

"Good." Hermione followed him out of the classroom and was rather pleased when he paused and fell into step beside her instead. "You might try a stiffer bag - that one's too soft to stay open without being held."

"I suppose." He shrugged. "I manage."

Hermione nodded. "I've noticed." She'd also noticed that he didn't like talking about his lost arm, and she cast around for another topic of conversation. "How is your mother? If you don't mind me asking..."

He glanced down at her in apparent surprise. "I don't mind. I'm a little surprised, but I don't mind."

Hermione shrugged. "Motherhood is a little on my mind at the moment, for some funny reason."

"Can't think why." Draco gave her bump an amused look. "My mother is as well as can be expected. She's still mourning for my father... I'm not sure she even remembers that she's under house-arrest most of the time. She doesn't leave her rooms much."

"I can only imagine," she said softly. "Is she allowed visitors?"

"With approval from the Magical Law Enforcement Office, yes. She threw a fit until they approved her dressmaker and her favourite hair-stylist." Draco smiled fondly. "I think that's a good sign. If she stopped caring how her hair looked, I'd really be concerned. My Aunt Andromeda is a regular visitor, as well. It took a while to convince Mother to speak to her, but they were very close when they were young. As long as they never discuss their respective husbands, they seem to get along well enough now."

Hermione nodded. "What about Tonks? Nymphadora, I mean, your cousin."

"She's visited once or twice, I think. I've only met her once - she was at my trial." Draco smiled lopsidedly. "She has the family eyes and chin... I picked her out even before she spoke to me." He paused, and gave Hermione a curious look. "What's she like? We didn't exactly get a chance to exchange life stories while I was evading Azkaban by the skin of my teeth. Thanks for speaking in my defence, by the way."

"You're welcome." She hadn't done it for Draco, although she wished now that she had. Then the memory of years of insults had been far too strong for her to want to save him; she'd done it because Severus Snape had wanted his godson freed and she'd been feeling guilty. And now she was feeling even more guilty, for not standing up for Draco for his own sake. "And she's nice. A bit batty, but nice. She and Remus Lupin are still dating, I think."

She realised after a moment that she was walking alone. She turned around, and found Draco stopped in the middle of the hallway, staring at her. "Remus Lupin? The werewolf? The teacher?"

"That's him." Hermione nodded, grinning a bit at the bewildered look on his face. "He put up a bit of a fight, but they seem happy enough now."

"_He_ put up a..." Draco shook his head. "But... he's old! He's practically old enough to be her father!"

"He's very nice," Hermione said a little defensively. "And so what if he's a bit older? There's nothing wrong with that. Given how long wizards live, twenty years is practically nothing. Less than twenty years, really, it's probably more like fifteen."

Draco snickered. "You're so easy to read, Granger. You've practically got 'I've had at least one crush on an older man' written across your forehead."

Hermione felt her face going red. "I'm not... look, Tonks and Remus are very sweet, that's not..."

"Don't worry, Granger. I already knew about your thing for Lockhart in second year." Draco shook his head. "I could never tease you about it, though... Millicent fancied him too, and if I'd said anything to imply that it was silly, she'd've killed me."

"So would I." Hermione felt a little giddy with relief. He didn't know. Thank God, he didn't know. "And I still could if you mention it to anyone."

"Then I won't." Draco scowled. "But I'm not sure Professor Lupin is good enough for my cousin, estranged half-Muggle-born or not. He's a _werewolf_!"

Hermione raised her eyebrows at him. "He's a dangerous potential killer three nights out of every month. No offence intended to your family, Draco, but I met your Uncle Rodolphus - "

"You set my Uncle Rodolphus on fire, you mean. Not that he didn't deserve it."

"And your father did try to kill me several times..."

"Yes, yes, all right, point taken," Draco said. "He's no worse than Rodolphus - I'll admit that much. Still, if she had to have an unattractive older man, couldn't she have picked one with a spine? Lupin's sloppier than the Quidditch pitch after two weeks of rain."

"Remus Lupin was a member of the Order of the Phoenix!" Hermione said, giving him a reproachful look. Draco might have mellowed, but he was still Draco. "Both times! He's one of the bravest people I know!"

"Oh, please." Draco snorted. "Most werewolves are really macho - the male ones, anyway - but Lupin probably writes sad little poems about flowers and kittens. He's so sweet and sentimental he makes my teeth hurt."

Hermione sniffed. "Boys. You're all the same. I mean, I'm just a girl, so obviously I wouldn't _know_ about being macho and all that... Even so, I can't help but notice that Professor Lupin has a beautiful, intelligent, much younger woman chasing him enthusiastically, while you and Ron - both keen on the _macho_ approach - are currently single." She gave him a deliberately wide-eyed look. "Gosh, do you think the two could be somehow connected?"

He laughed. "A hit, a palpable hit," he said, giving her an amused and oddly intent look. "I'll go begin brushing up on my poetry at once. Should I begin with flowers or with kittens?"

"Oh, flowers, definitely," Hermione said seriously. "Something very deep and stirring about snowdrops, perhaps."


	11. Chapter 11: Merry Christmas

**Chapter 11: Merry Christmas**

* * *

Hermione had considered going home for Christmas. She really had. But as much as she loved her parents, she couldn't bear the thought of missing her very last Christmas at Hogwarts. They'd been understanding, especially given that at twenty-five weeks, she was far enough along for travel to be getting uncomfortable. (As was standing, and sitting, and sleeping and going to the loo, not to mention the indigestion that had her drinking soothing potions by the bucket.)

So she sat up (with a small grunt of effort) on Christmas morning in her own bed at Hogwarts. Crookshanks was nowhere in sight, but his place at the foot of her bed was full of presents, and Hermione dug in happily. Her parents had sent a small gold locket for her, and a soft, fleecy blanket for their incipient grandchild. Harry, as usual, had bought her a book, and Ron had provided a large bar of Honeydukes' chocolate. Molly Weasley had outdone herself... There was at least a bucketful of mince pies, as well as two pairs of socks and - instead of the usual jumper - a very large, triangular shawl in fluffy pink wool which went around her shoulders at once. Ginny had contributed a box filled with balls of wool in assorted colours, and Neville had given her a little bottle of rose-oil which she was sure he'd made himself. Which left two presents unaccounted for.

She opened the first - a tiny, drably wrapped box - and lifted out a miniscule golden heart on a short length of narrow white ribbon. The card on the box announced it to be from Remus Lupin, and explained that it was a protective charm, traditional in many wizarding families and intended to be tied around the baby's wrist or ankle as soon as it was born. Sniffling a bit, and reminding herself to thank him later, Hermione put the charm carefully back into its box and put it away in her bedside table before picking up the other present.

This box was even plainer, but much bigger, and when she opened it she pulled out a set of amber-and-brown robes, embroidered with twisting flowers and vines around every hem. They were soft wool, practical as well as pretty and Hermione couldn't help making little delighted noises as she held them up to admire them. The undergown was gathered into a high waist and the outer robes were loose, so she'd be able to wear them right through her pregnancy and after. The note she located under the robes made her blink and then laugh... _'I don't mean to imply that you don't know how to dress yourself, but you do need to stop wearing blue and purple. They don't suit you at all. These will be much better. Merry Christmas, Draco'_. It was the sort of extravagant gift a Malfoy would choose, and yet another sign that he really did want to be friends. They'd had quite a few civil conversations now, and he was a lot more interesting than she'd ever given him credit for. More intelligent, too.

Hermione folded the robes up neatly, then pulled on one of the new pairs of socks, wrapped her shawl closer around her, and went to see what Harry and Ron had got for Christmas.

"Girl in the dormitory!" she called through the door, laughing as Seamus retreated hastily under the covers. Ron and Harry were still ripping into their presents happily, throwing paper everywhere the way they always did, and she thanked Neville for his gift before going over to sit on the edge of Harry's bed. "Good haul?"

"Not bad." Harry smiled at her, his hair a worse mess than ever. "Thanks for the hat, Hermione." To demonstrate his appreciation, he pulled on the hat she'd knitted for him in stripes of red and gold. It was quite a good hat, she thought, hardly knobbly at all, and Harry never seemed to have one.

"You're welcome. Thank you for the book." She gave him a quick hug, making an impatient noise as her bulge got in the way. "Oh, I will be so glad to have this _over_."

"I'll bet. Looks bloody uncomfortable," Ron agreed, putting on his own hat. She had knitted it in stripes of brown and green, which suited him much better than his House colours. "Thanks, Hermione, it's loads better than Mum's... she always puts earflaps on them, and they look awful." He eyed her thoughtfully. "Hey, did she make you that shawl instead of a jumper this year? It looks like her stuff."

"She did." Hermione stroked the fluffy wool. "I thought it was very nice of her, making something special for me."

"Yeah, well, she's dead keen on babies." Ron was investigating the sweets that were probably from Harry, and talking through a mouthful of chocolate. "Can't wait for Bill and Fleur to have some, can she? Bill says she's always writing and asking pointed little questions. I think he's quite glad you're having one, he thinks it'll distract Mum a bit."

"Gosh, Ron, does your mum like babies?" Dean looked up from his own haul with an innocent expression. "I mean, with her only having seven, we'd never have guessed."

Ron grinned and threw some balled up paper at Dean. "Yeah, that is a bit of a clue... Fred and George said she's even started dropping hints to them about settling down, last time they wrote."

Hermione shuddered. "A fate I wouldn't wish on any girl," she said fervently. "You know I like the twins, Ron, but if ever there was a pair designed by nature to be bachelor uncles..."

"I think you're right," Harry said, examining a new pocket knife. "I mean, the twins are fun, but who'd trust them with something as breakable as a baby?"

"And if anyone did, I wouldn't want to be it," Ron said, shuddering. "I mean, look at what they did to me when I was little... burning a hole in my tongue was just about the best bit."

Harry winced. "Dudley was just as bad, even if we're almost the same age. He's always been bigger than me." He shook his head, and smiled at Hermione. "Nah, babies are best left to more trustworthy, responsible sorts."

"Hermione'll be a good mum, I think," Neville said, wandering over. "Don't you think she will, Harry?"

"Of course she will," Harry said firmly. "She'll be a great mum. Bit too keen on homework, maybe, but still great."

Hermione beamed. "I'm going to do my best," she said, patting her stomach gently. "I've been reading up on - "

"Big surprise," Ron muttered, grinning.

"Shut up, Ron." Hermione made a face at him. Then she winced. "And now he's awake. He always seems to sleep a bit longer than I do."

"Is he kicking or something?" Harry ventured doubtfully. He did know the fundamentals of _making_ babies, or at least she assumed he did, but the Dursleys didn't seem to have passed on much in the way of detail. "They do that, right?"

"More and more frequently. Want to feel?"

Rather to her surprise, he nodded and reached out, touching her stomach tentatively. "Where?" She put his hand in the right place, and he frowned. "I don't feel anything."

"Give him a minute - he's usually fairly active early in the morning." Hermione shifted his hand slightly, and then his face brightened as the baby kicked firmly. "Feel that?"

"I think so... yeah, definitely." He grinned, giving her stomach a shy pat before he pulled his hand away. "Thanks, Hermione."

"You're welcome." Damn sniffles. Being pregnant was making her horribly sentimental.

Neville shifted from foot to foot, giving her a pleading look. "Uhm... could I?" he asked hopefully.

"Of course." She put his hand in place, and waited for a minute. When no activity seemed forthcoming, she bounced a little bit on the bed and was rewarded with several kicks and wiggles. "There, feel that?"

"Wow," Neville breathed, his face lighting up. "That's... wow."

"Yeah." Hermione smiled. "Sometimes in the bath I can actually see my stomach move when he does that."

"Oh, urgh." Ron made a face. "That's really disturbing, Hermione. Don't tell us about that."

"Shut up, Ron," Neville said absently, smiling as another kick fluttered against his palm. "It's not disturbing, it's cool."

"Maybe _you_ think so." Ron shuddered. "Hey, it's nearly breakfast-time. Sod off, Hermione, so we can get dressed."

"All right, all right." Hermione pulled herself upright with a small grunt of effort. "Don't take all morning, I'm starving."

When she got back to her dormitory, Lavender and Parvati were both awake, and Crookshanks was curled up on her pillow. He looked worryingly pleased with himself, and Hermione did a little-furry-body check before getting dressed. No small corpses were immediately evident... maybe he'd given someone else a Little Present instead.

* * *

Severus was careful to give no sign that he was awake, keeping his breathing level as he shifted the hand under his pillow very slightly, feeling for his wand. There was something pressing on his chest. He could hear breathing. He could...

...feel four distinct sets of pinpricks as whatever was on his chest dug claws in through his nightshirt to let him know that it knew he was awake. A cat, obviously. And not Minerva McGonagall - she would never come into his rooms uninvited, even as a cat. Besides, Minerva was a dainty little tabby who couldn't possibly be this heavy.

"_Lumos_," he said, drawing his wand out from under his pillow. "Oh, hell." Hermione Granger's enormous cat was sitting on his chest, lamplike eyes fixed on his face. "Crookshanks, I believe?" The cat twitched a lazy ear. "Am I to take it you understand what is said to you?" It was always wisest to ask. You never knew when a magical creature was going to slide over the line into actual intelligence.

After giving the question a moment of apparent thought, Crookshanks nodded quite unmistakeably. Then he stood up, and moved off Severus's chest to stand beside him. Not all the weight went with him... a small ball of spotted fur remained, curled up on Severus's stomach. Crookshanks prodded it with a paw, and it uncurled, unwrapping a tufted tail from around itself and sitting up. Large, sail-like ears and light brown eyes, black stripes across the muzzle and a small black nose.

Severus froze, staring at it in wonder. A Kneazle. A very small one... probably barely old enough to leave its mother. Born out of season - it happened now and then. As far as he knew, Kneazles had never been found quite this far north... but if they were, surely it would be in the Forbidden Forest.

The Kneazle-kit stretched, digging needle-fine claws into his ribs and hip, and sauntered up his chest to examine him. For a long moment, the black nose was barely a quarter-inch from his own... then, apparently satisfied, the kit licked his nose and sat down on his sternum, looking enquiringly at Crookshanks. Crookshanks was looking at Severus himself. Meaningfully.

"This was your doing?" he asked, trying to sound polite. Those claws were sharp, and currently very close to his face.

Crookshanks nodded, looking smug as only a cat can.

"And... this." He looked at the kit thoughtfully. "Would I be correct in assuming that you wish me to care for it?"

Another nod, this time with a very meaningful look that Severus was quite at a loss to interpret.

"Ah." Severus looked down at what was apparently his Kneazle. It looked back. "Er... thank you, I suppose."

Crookshanks butted his head rather hard against Severus's temple, uttering a brief purr, and then disappeared over the side of the bed much more smoothly than he would have thought such a stout cat could manage.

Severus sat up, cradling the small Kneazle against his chest with one hand. It seemed pleased with his increasing activity, uttering a squeaky purr and licking his finger. "Interesting," he said, wondering if this was all a particularly bizarre dream. He thought not - the creature's tongue was quite realistically damp.

Hagrid would know what to do with it.

Fifteen minutes later, feeling slightly less off-balance after a cup of strong black tea (the Kneazle had had his milk), he was dressed and trudging through shallow snow to Hagrid's cottage. It was only just after dawn, but Severus didn't see why Hagrid should be allowed to sleep in when he hadn't. The Kneazle was riding in his cloak pocket, peering out with apparent interest at the snowy landscape.

Severus banged on Hagrid's door and listened. After a moment, a loud growling grunt indicated that he'd woken either Hagrid or Fang. Heavy footsteps sounded, and then the door was pulled open by what appeared to be a black haystack in a blue and orange striped nightshirt. "Whuzit?" Then Hagrid's eyes focused and he stiffened. "Professor," he said, in what he undoubtedly imagined to be an icy tone. "What d'you want?"

Severus fished his new... pet? companion?... out of his pocket and held it up. "I wish to consult you on the care of this particular magical creature," he said, scowling. Hagrid's continued resentment of his 'murder' of Dumbledore was very irritating. "May I come in?"

Hagrid stared at the Kneazle for a long moment. "Is that a... yeh, come in." He stepped back, letting Severus into the blessedly cosy hut. Unfortunately, this also allowed Fang to bounce up to greet the new arrival... and see the catlike thing dangling from his hand.

About ten seconds later Fang was hiding under the table, whimpering and trying to lick his scratched nose. Severus was clutching a scratched hand and resisting the urge to swear. The Kneazle was perched on his shoulder, growling shrilly and glaring down at the table.

"Ah, don't mind him," Hagrid said, reaching up to pet the small round head with a large finger. "Fang don't mean no 'arm. He just likes to play."

The Kneazle made what was undoubtedly a rude remark and nosed Severus's hair affectionately. "He can play elsewhere," Severus said frostily, fishing out his handkerchief and wrapping it around his bleeding hand.

"Oh, he won't come out again now. Coward, he is, 'cept when there's real danger to me." Hagrid pulled his moleskin coat on over his nightshirt and went over to the fireplace to put the kettle on. "How on earth did yeh get hold of a baby Kneazle, Professor Snape?"

"I believe it was intended as a sort of gift. Or possibly that I was." Hagrid's tone had warmed markedly, and Severus relaxed a bit. Hagrid had always been one of the few people who seemed to genuinely like him, and it had been... unpleasant... being at odds with him. "Miss Granger's cat delivered it this morning."

"Crookshanks? That's interestin'... he's part Kneazle himself, I suspect. Cleverest cat I ever come across, that's for sure." Hagrid poked up the fire. "Late litter, I guess."

"I suspected as much." Severus carefully transferred it from his shoulder to a more secure spot in his lap, where it started to wash itself. "It looks a bit under-nourished."

"It does that. But most things is a bit skinny this time o' year." Hagrid examined the Kneazle, poking it gently. It promptly attacked his finger, gnawing gently and wrapping its small paws around Hagrid's huge hand. "Ahhh, lookit that, he likes me!" He paused, and then carefully lifted the Kneazle's tail to check. "She likes me, that is."

Severus decided to take his word for the creature's gender. "What should I feed her? As I understand it, juvenile Kneazles are rarely even seen, let alone kept as pets."

"They are that," Hagrid said, nodding seriously. "And they're more've a friend than a pet, really... there's no cagin' a Kneazle, and they go where they please. If they like yeh, they'll stay by yeh no matter what - and they're choosy, they are. They won't have anything to do with anyone untrustworthy or wicked."

"Yes, I had heard that." Severus looked down at the Kneazle and smoothed his hand over its downy fur. It purred, nuzzling his hand affectionately. "I imagine that seeing one in my company will be... surprising, to many."

"Oh, it will that." Hagrid gave him a comically mournful look. "But they're never wrong about folks, and we people often are. I'm sorry, Professor, for bein' so... you know."

"I understand," Severus said hastily, hoping to avoid one of Hagrid's famous bouts of sentimental tears. "Under the circumstances. No more need be said about that."

"Yeh, well..." Hagrid sniffed, but thankfully tears seemed to be averted. "Anyway, she'll eat meat and fish, mostly, like a cat, but milk'll help build her up, and yeh can put a drop of cod-liver oil in it too. A bit o' raw carrot mixed in with her food now and then won't hurt, neither."

"I see." The fur really was very soft. He'd used Kneazle-fur in potions, of course, but that hadn't felt as soft as this. "Thank you, Hagrid. I should return and supervise breakfast."

"I'll join yeh in a bit." Hagrid beamed fatuously at the Kneazle. "What'll yeh name her?"

Severus picked her up as he stood, holding her with one hand under her chest and the other under her rear. She looked up at him and purred contentedly. "Akilah, I think," he said, after a moment's thought. "It means 'wise', and Kneazles are clever creatures."

"That's a right pretty name for a pretty lady," Hagrid said, watching fondly as Akilah was tucked back into the pocket. "Oh, and Professor? Keep an eye on her around your store-cupboards. There's nowhere a Kneazle can't go if they're determined enough."

* * *

"Severus?" Aurora Sinistra leaned over to murmur quietly to him. "Why are you feeding your pocket?"

Severus scowled. He'd hoped nobody would notice. Most of the teachers had left for the holidays, but naturally the Heads of House remained if any of their students did... still, with only five people at the teachers' table, surely he should have been able to slip a few bits of sausage and bacon into his pocket without anyone noticing. "A new pet," he muttered reluctantly.

"Really? What is it?" Sinistra looked down just as Akilah poked her head out to meow for more. "A Kneazle? How charming."

"Not the word I would choose," Severus said, wincing as Akilah nipped his fingers in her eagerness to get the morsel of bacon he was holding.

Sinistra palmed a lump of scrambled egg and dropped it neatly into his pocket, which wriggled happily. "They make very loyal pets, if one manages to attach them. I congratulate you on your good fortune."

"Thank you, Aurora." If someone had had to notice, he decided, he was glad it was her. It took more than a pocketful of baby magical creature to disturb Aurora's serenity, and she had already returned to her breakfast.

McGonagall leaned across behind Sinistra, to give him a suspicious look. "Severus, why are you and Aurora feeding your pocket?"

* * *

Hermione looked up at the teachers' table automatically as they entered the Great Hall. He was there, and looking... better. The tense lines around his mouth had relaxed somewhat, and he actually had a proper breakfast in front of him. She saw sausage, egg and what might have been bacon.

"So, what'll we do today?" Ginny said brightly, reaching for the nearest pot of coffee as Hermione sat down.

"Something sedentary," Hermione said, then rolled her eyes as Ron gave her a bewildered look. "Something that doesn't involve any running about, Ron. Honestly, I'm buying you a dictionary for Christmas next year."

"Yeah, you're not really in any shape for a snowball fight or anything," Ron said, looking her up and down a bit critically. "We could build a snowman or something, I suppose..."

"Bending over isn't really an option, either," Hermione said ruefully. "I'd just fall down if I tried it in snow. Isn't there something we could do inside?"

"Cards?" Ginny suggested. "We could play poker. The boys have lots of sweets to use as stakes."

"I hate poker. I always lose." Ron shovelled more sausage into his mouth. "Oubowf suhchez?"

"You always want to play chess." Ginny rolled her eyes. "We all know it's only because you like to win. Anyway, only two people can play that. How about something all four of us can play?"

"Anything that doesn't explode is all right with me," Hermione said, sneaking another glance up at the teachers' table. Professor Snape was talking to Professor Sinistra, who was actually smiling. She looked away quickly. "I've never been keen on explosions, and according to the books I've been reading, the baby can hear outside noises now."

"Really? Can it hear us talking?" Ginny gave her stomach an interested look.

"I think so." Hermione frowned. "How about some sort of board game?"

That discussion lasted through most of breakfast. Eventually they decided on a game of poker to start with, then a snowball fight later during which Hermione could have a hot bath and rest her back. (More accurately, Hermione and Ginny decided - Harry would agree to anything Ginny wanted to do, and Ron was outvoted.)

"Maybe Neville could join us." Ginny looked down the table. "Hey, Neville, do you know how to play poker?"

"No." Neville gave her a hopeful look. "Is it hard?"

"Not really. None of us are very good at it."

"She's lying," Harry said cheerfully. "She's the only one who _is_ good at it. But it's not hard to learn. Hermione drew us up a little chart that shows you what hand beats - hey, what's that?"

"They look like flowers," Ginny said, looking up. Coloured... things... were cascading from a hollow in the stone high up on one wall. "No... they're butterflies! Hey, they're really pretty. I wonder if Professor Flitwick did that?"

"Look, they're in the house colours!" Harry grinned, as the flight of butterflies began to separate... green and silver butterflies over the Slytherin table, yellow over the Hufflepuffs, blue and bronze over the Ravenclaws, and a whole flurry of little red ones over the Gryffindors. "I only see red... no, there's a gold one. See it?" He pointed, and the little golden butterfly... it looked to be made of paper... spiralled downward obligingly.

Hermione glanced up at the high table and felt a chill of unease. Professor Flitwick wasn't smiling. The teachers looked puzzled. They hadn't known about this. Anybody could have sneaked into the great hall and planted the butterflies, at any time. They could have been there for days, waiting to be released.

"Harry, don't touch it!" She shoved his hand away from the golden butterfly - folded paper, she could see now. "It might be another attack, it could be poisoned or... duck!" Harry dived backwards, landing flat on his back on the floor as the butterfly fluttered directly towards his face. Hermione jumped to her feet, fumbling frantically for her wand.

"What is it, what's going on - "

"Mr Potter, stay away from that - "

"It's coming around!"

Hermione pulled out her wand, pointing it at the harmless-looking bit of gold paper. "_Incend-_"

It dipped around her wand and landed on her hand.

It felt cold.

And then everything went dark.


	12. Chapter 12: Nightmare

**Chapter 12: Nightmare**

* * *

Severus didn't see the butterflies when they first appeared. He was looking down, trying to tuck Akilah's tail back into his pocket so he could leave without her being seen. When she suddenly started trying to climb out of the pocket, hissing, he wasted several seconds trying to get her back into it before he looked up. By then, the house colours had already started to separate out.

He was on his feet by the time Potter landed on his back on the floor. His wand was out an instant later, but which of the slightly blurred red blobs was his target? Where was - Hermione's wand was out, and something was flashing gold between him and her. "_Incend-_" she said, raising her wand... and then her eyes went wide and she uttered a terrified shriek.

Every fluttering coloured blob burst into flames. He ignored them. He wasn't sure how exactly he got over the table, but he was on his feet and running when she collapsed, crumpling into a little heap of black robes and waving hair. Students were beginning to crowd around her before he reached her, and he pushed his way through to kneel beside her.

Hermione's eyes were open and fixed, an expression of terror on her face. She was breathing, however, and there were no obvious signs of physical trauma. "What happened?"

"The gold butterfly landed on her hand." The person kneeling on her other side was Harry Potter. He lifted one of her small, limp hands and turned it, showing a small burn. "The moment it touched her she went stiff and screamed. Was it poisoned, like the scarf?"

"I doubt it." For the second time, Hermione and a crisis had them exchanging at least a few civil words. Would wonders never cease? "Pick up her wand. It will get broken if it remains on the floor."

The boy did so, without so much as giving him a filthy look. Could he actually be maturing? "A curse, then?"

Severus touched the tip of his wand to a spot just above her heart, muttering a complex incantation. After a moment, the nature of her affliction made itself known to him. "A curse. She needs to be moved to the hospital wing immediately."

Potter nodded as Minerva McGonagall appeared beside him, her thin face creased with distress. "I'll run ahead and tell Madam Pomfrey we're coming."

Moving Hermione to the hospital wing took precious minutes, and by the time they got there Severus was in no mood to accommodate the fluttering and repeated questions of her friends and teachers. "Shut up!"

Silence fell, as everyone from Minerva to Poppy to Ronald Weasley stared at him reproachfully. "The Night-Fear is not a particularly complex curse," he said sharply. "Miss Granger has been trapped within her worst nightmare, and would, if the curse were not broken, remain so until she died of dehydration. She - "

"Can you help her, Severus?" Minerva asked, looking down at the limp body.

"I can. It's not a particularly difficult curse to break. I will, however, require _absolute quiet_. Poppy, get everyone out of here, pull the curtains around the bed and do not, if you value Miss Granger's continued sanity, allow _anyone_ to interrupt me."

"But we want - "

"Your friend is suffering all her worst terrors, Mr Weasley, and will continue to do so until you _go away_."

Potter showed actual sense for the second time in the last twenty minutes, dragging the two Weasleys away. A moment later, the curtains were closed around them and he was able to cast a Sound-blocking Charm that enclosed them in a bubble of silence.

She looked small and defenceless, lying on the high bed; the firm curve of her stomach seemed the biggest part of her, drawing his eyes and making him feel oddly helpless. Trying to ignore it, he moved to the side of the bed, sliding a hand under her neck to tilt her face up to his. "_Legilimens_," he whispered, allowing the spell to draw him into her unguarded mind. Physical contact heightened the connection, and soon the outside world vanished from his senses.

It was cold.

As the spell unified their thoughts to the point where he could truly 'enter' her nightmare, the first thing he registered was the cold. Then the stone under his feet and the smell of fresh blood and mildewed stone. Sight returned next and he found himself standing in what was almost certainly a room, but one too large for him to really discern its boundaries. He was standing amid the shattered remnants of several statues made of white marble - an arm lay by his feet, and directly in front of him was a shattered torso, its head severed and lying beside it.

The place was eerily quiet. It wasn't until he moved towards the nearest marble body that he heard a faint, pitiful whimpering. It came from directly behind him and he turned... and then he realised, abruptly, the significance of those broken marble bodies. Not statues.

Chessmen.

The animated chess set was larger than he remembered it - naturally, since this version had been drawn from the memory of an undersized child of twelve. The squares were a good three feet across, the pieces rising as tall as Hagrid in places. Broken bodies surrounded the board, and that was puzzling... wizarding chess pieces didn't actually destroy each other, and it made no sense that she would fear them doing so.

Then he saw the human bodies. Ronald Weasley first, crushed under the mangled remains of a black marble horse, with blood leaking from his ears and nose. Harry Potter, further on, his chest a broken ruin, lying in a puddle of blood. One of his arms vanished under the round base of the bishop which had taken him, clearly crushed flat by the weight. Both were in their teens, not the children they'd been when they'd faced the real enchanted chess game.

Near the middle of the board, on a white square, Hermione was on her knees, one arm clamped across her swollen belly, the other covering her mouth. She was crying, tears pouring down her face, but the sleeve pressed against her mouth muffled her sobs to the faint whimpers that had drawn his attention. He approached the board slowly, moving silently by habit, watching her as she rocked back and forth in what he recognized as sheer terror.

She was trapped, he realised. As long as she didn't move, she was safe - the game could not progress until a move was initiated. The moment she stepped off her square, however, or ordered one of the other black pieces to do the same, she would be vulnerable. And she had told him herself that she was no good at chess.

"Miss Granger." He spoke without intending to do so, moving closer to the edge of the board.

She jumped, almost toppling out of her square and then dragging herself back from the edge with a soft wail of fear. "P-Professor?" she whimpered, looking around frantically until she saw him. "A-are you really here?"

"Yes, I am really here." He had seen that same helpless, bewildered fear on the faces of the Death Eaters' victims. He'd hoped never to see it again. "You were the victim of a curse, Miss Granger. The Night-Fear. Are you familiar with it?"

She nodded uncertainly. "It t-traps a person inside his or her n-nightmares..." She looked around her at the gigantic stone figures, arm wrapping more tightly around her stomach. "I told you I still had nightmares about this," she whispered. If the room hadn't been so quiet, he never would have heard it.

"You did." He tried to step onto the board, but couldn't. No invisible wall blocked him, no force pushed him away... it was simply impossible for him to join the game. "Miss Granger, there are two ways to break this curse. The longer way involves lifting the curse from the outside... a time-consuming process which would leave you trapped within this nightmare and perhaps others for what will seem like days or weeks of subjective time. The only other way requires you to free yourself from the nightmare by completing it or defeating it. In this case, I suspect you must play your way out."

"I can't!" She cowered away from him, covering her face with her free hand. "I can't, I c-can't! I'll make a mistake, I always do... it'll kill me if I move, just like it k-killed Harry and Ron!"

"Mr Potter and Mr Weasley are well and probably getting in everyone's way in their usual idiotic fashion," Severus said firmly. "This is not real, Miss Granger."

"But what if they hurt me? Or my baby?" She gave him a pleading look. "If I d-die in the dream, it could kill both of us, couldn't it?"

"... yes." Perhaps he should have lied to her, told her she was in no danger - but no, that was the way Dumbledore would behave. She had a right to know that the danger was real. "Wait a moment, Miss Granger. Let me look at the board."

She really wasn't a chess player, he realised, looking at the board. The unfinished game furnished by her imagination had scattered pieces fairly randomly across the board. He could see a dozen openings for either side - Hermione herself was under threat from a bishop she probably hadn't even seen. The first move would have to block it or remove it completely. Which shouldn't be difficult - the white pieces were as disorganized as the black. "Miss Granger," he said, pitching his voice to convey reassuring calm. "Do you trust me?"

That wasn't what he'd meant to say.

"Yes, of c-course," she said, her fading sobs still making her voice catch as she looked up at him. "Will you h-help me?"

"You are not, as you said, good at chess. I am. I will tell you what to do." The grateful look on her face was oddly pleasant. So few people were ever grateful for the help he gave them. "First, advance the pawn to your left one square."

"But won't he get taken?" she asked nervously.

"Probably... but you, Miss Granger, will not. Move the pawn."

"Yes, Professor." For once, the girl didn't question him further. Frightened tears were still trickling down her face, but she ordered the pawn forward in a clear if tremulous voice.

Had he really been playing against Minerva McGonagall's enchanted chess set, it would have been harder. But they were in Hermione's mind, and she was the one animating both white and black pieces. It wasn't long before the white king removed his crown and cast it aside in surrender, and the other pieces froze in place.

Hermione didn't move.

"Miss Granger?" She was standing at the edge of her square, shaking so hard he could see it from a dozen feet away. "The game is over. You may leave your square."

"I'm scared," she whimpered, inching one foot slowly forward. "I d-don't have my wand - what if they g-grab me?" Despite her obvious terror she moved, stepping off her square and crossing the next slowly. Her eyes darted around, trying to watch every chess piece at once - and they were moving, he realised, although by the rules of the game they shouldn't. Each piece turned slowly on its square, watching her, and as she realised that, she sped up, hurrying towards him and the edge of the board.

There was a faint grinding sound, as a dozen round stone bases shifted, each chess piece moving to the edge of its square. He hoped she didn't hear the faint wet noises as a certain bishop shifted on the crushed remains of Harry Potter's arm. Whether she'd heard it or not, she heard the others, and she broke into a stumbling run. He found himself - without ever having intended to move - at the very edge of the board, his wand out and ready even though he knew that a dream version of his wand in someone else's dream might be worse than useless. But he was there, and when she tripped over the raised edge of the board in her frantic attempt to escape, he caught her. She was shaking so hard he was surprised she'd been able to stay on her feet. She clung to him as he stepped back from the board, burying her face in his chest and sobbing hysterically.

_If she were a rabbit, her heart would have burst before she took a step,_ he thought, holding her awkwardly. She wasn't just afraid, she was terrified to the point of complete hysteria, and yet she had still obeyed him, followed his instructions and then steeled herself to leave the board.

He'd often mocked the renowned 'Gryffindor courage'... to him, it generally seemed to be a combination of lust for glory and simply being too stupid to recognise danger when it presented itself. But Hermione... he frowned, sorting back through his memories. She had been shaky and tear-stained when found in a bathroom with an unconscious troll in first year, he remembered that, though Potter and Weasley had been triumphant. She'd been as white as a sheet in the Shrieking Shack, and her voice had been unsteady. At the time he'd been too angry to realise it, but now... and more than once, during the series of skirmishes leading up to the confrontation with Voldemort, he'd seen her hands shake and heard her voice break as she fought ferociously to protect her friends and allies. He had never given it thought before.

He looked down at her, frowning a little in surprise. All he could see was a lot of wavy brown hair and one black-clad shoulder pressed against his ribs, she was standing so close to him. Again, he'd always simply equated her with Potter and Weasley in his mind. The three of them sought out danger, ergo, they were typical stupid, courageous Gryffindors. However, Hermione clearly _wasn't_ too stupid to fear danger... her pathetic, snuffly sobs were indication enough of that, even if she hadn't been clinging to him like a frightened limpet to a particularly reassuring stone.

"Miss Granger," he said, much more gently than usual, giving her back a little pat. "Calm yourself. You are safe now."

Her sobbing got quieter, but didn't cease. Nor did her grip on his ribs - which was tight enough to impede his breathing slightly, had she been holding on to his actual body and not a dream-representation of it.

What was he supposed to say? He wasn't very good at being comforting - he didn't know how. His older Slytherins generally found a pat on the shoulder and some helpful tactical advice soothing, and the younger ones could usually be consoled by the application of a peppermint and a handkerchief. This was definitely outside his ken. He shifted uncomfortably and felt the firm bulge of her stomach pressed against his side. Aha. "Miss Granger, control yourself. This level of agitation cannot be good for the child."

Had he ever referred directly to their child before? He wasn't sure, but he didn't think so - not in conversation with her, anyway. That might be why she looked up at him with a startled expression before she nodded, drawing a shuddering breath and wiping her eyes with her sleeve. "I'm sorry," she whispered, pulling away. "I'm all right now."

The scene around them began to fade as the nightmare - and the curse - started to lose hold. Looking over her head he could see the chess pieces moving behind her, abandoning all semblance of a proper game as they crowded towards the edge of the board. But she couldn't see them, and before they could reach her, she woke up.

He withdrew from her mind, breaking eye contact hastily. His hand was still tucked around the back of her neck as she blinked, stirring and looking up at him. Her lashes were wet and there were tear-streaks on her face, even outside the nightmare. She wasn't crying now, though... she even managed a small, wobbly smile. "Thank you," she whispered, looking up to meet his eyes again.

Since her visit to his office four months before, she had had his emotions in a hopeless tangle. Being angry was the simplest approach, but he had found himself unable to sustain unfocused anger for long, and instead had found himself disquietingly absorbed with the girl. Coming to the conclusion that she loved her child had added even more confusion - he had never had any intention of having children himself largely because he had never believed any woman could love and value any child of his begetting as a child should be valued. After that first afternoon, he'd pushed thoughts of the child's actual conception aside. The thought of being... sexually imposed on by the delicate little Gryffindor Bookworm was simply impossible.

Now he looked down at her, as she lay almost in his arms, as if she were a stranger, not a student. He saw a young woman with a cloud of waving brown hair and soft brown eyes, small and fine-boned, with a very faint scar running along her jaw and more on her slender fingers. The marks on her hands came from years of Potions and Care Of Magical Creatures classes, he suspected - the one along her jaw had been a hex that had come within a hair's breadth of blasting away the side of her head. There were the faint beginnings of lines around her mouth and eyes, prematurely etched there by years of tension and fear. Only the untidy masses of loose hair still made her look young... like Draco, like the wretched Potter boy, she had had her youth stripped from her long ago by the war. He simply hadn't wanted to admit it, of them or of her.

He had only been staring at her for a moment, his mind racing, when he was pulled out of his thoughts by something bumping his hand. Not the one he was withdrawing from the back of her neck, the other one. He looked down, realizing that he had rested it on the most convenient surface... and that he had just felt her baby, _their_ baby, moving. Even as he looked, he felt it again, a gentle bump against his palm.

He yanked his hand back as if it had been burned. "Thanks are unnecessary. Taking you to St Mungo's for such an easily removed curse would have been a sheer waste of time." He straightened up - his back twinged a bit - and moved away from the bed. For the first time in months, he was angry at her for what she'd done. She wasn't a naive girl... she was a young woman, extraordinarily brave and very attractive. She could have sought out almost any man that night. To have settled on him could only have been an act of mockery or of pity. "Next time, kindly spend less time dithering and finish your spell before a cursed object actually touches you."

She flinched, her eyes filling with tears again. "I'm sorry," she said quietly, looking away from him as she wiped her eyes hastily with the back of her hand. "It won't happen again."

"See that it does not." His hand twitched. He could almost still feel that gentle bumping against his palm. "You are more than capable of deflecting a more serious curse than that one. I have seen you do so."

"Yes, Professor." She looked down . "I'm... uhm... I'm sorry for falling apart like that, in the nightmare. The grabbing you, and so on."

"You seem to be making a habit of it," he said, giving her stomach a pointed look. The jibe was automatic - he'd been using the weaknesses of others against them since before she'd been born or thought of. Anger was the usual response, although tears were a regular alternative.

Hermione looked at him as if he'd hit her. Dazed, at first, and not quite believing it had happened... then her face went red and her eyes filled again. She looked away from him, her hands spreading defensively over her stomach in that gesture she never seemed to know she was making. "I'm sorry," she whispered, wiping her eyes with her sleeve. "I won't do it again."

Severus watched her as she struggled to pull herself into a sitting position, feeling suddenly guilty. He would much have preferred shouted defiance or angry tears... even wounded sobs would have done. He could still be angry in the face of any of those. But apologizing to him, after he'd deliberately hurt her... "I believe you are fully recovered," he said, and it came out sounding sharper than he had meant it to. "I suggest you brace yourself for an avalanche of fussing."

He lowered the wall of silence around them and opened the curtains. Approximately four seconds later, Hermione was being hugged by both Potter and Ginny Weasley, while the male Weasley hovered at the end of the bed and patted her ankles encouragingly. All three were inquiring anxiously as to whether she was all right, while Madam Pomfrey elbowed her way in amongst them to mutter diagnostic spells and wave her wand anxiously over Hermione's abdomen. McGonagall and Lupin were both hovering anxiously at a small, dignified distance.

It would be the perfect time to slip away, before he had to put up with more tiresome emoting. Nevertheless, he found himself lingering until Madam Pomfrey had announced that all was well. It was, of course, mere annoyance with the sloppy sentiment which made the sight of Potter's arms around Hermione so irritating, along with the way Weasley was pawing at her legs. At least Miss Weasley had the decency to fuss quietly, and to offer her friend a hanky.

Frowning, he turned to go... only to be stopped by an impertinent hand on his arm. He glared at Lupin until the hand was removed, but the werewolf only smiled his lopsided smile. "Aren't you forgetting someone?" he asked.

Severus blinked, then remembered. It had, after all, been a busy day already and he wasn't used to having a pet. Scowling, he accepted the return of the young Kneazle, who had been showing a deplorable lack of taste in allowing Lupin to hold her. She seemed pleased to be returned, however, snuggling into the crook of Severus's arm affectionately. He stroked her, glancing again at the bed. "Miss Granger."

As usual, his voice silenced most others. She looked up at him, a woeful expression on her face that made him feel guiltier than ever. "Yes, Professor?"

"Your vulnerability to this particular attack displays a potentially fatal flaw in your ability to defend yourself," he said, drawing himself up and sneering just a little. "You will, therefore, present yourself in my office tomorrow evening at seven." He gave Lupin a disdainful look. "Clearly, I will have to take your training in hand myself if future interruptions of breakfast are to be avoided." He turned and swept out of the hospital wing before any comments could be made. His authority had been properly re-established, and that serious weakness in her tactical abilities really did need to be addressed.

Of course, it would take more than one lesson. Probably dozens. He would have to see her, talk to her, just the two of them, for hours. What had possessed him?

In his arms, Akilah started to purr.

* * *

Hermione leaned gratefully against Harry's shoulder, and he hugged her tightly. She'd seen him and Ron die hundreds of times in her nightmares, but this time had been especially horrible, and it was reassuring to feel his heart beating against her arm and his breath ruffling her hair. He was finally getting comfortable with the idea of hugging, probably mostly thanks to Ginny.

"Miss Granger."

She flinched, looking up at him nervously. He sneered, but the vaguely kittenish creature in his arms - was it a Kneazle? - detracted a bit from his usual intimidating air. "Your vulnerability to this particular attack displays a potentially fatal flaw in your ability to defend yourself," he said, and she blinked in surprise. The anger that had been in his voice just a second ago was gone, replaced with his usual faintly snotty tone. "You will, therefore, present yourself in my office tomorrow evening at seven." He gave Lupin a disdainful look. "Clearly, I will have to take your training in hand myself if future interruptions of breakfast are to be avoided."

With that he swept out, and Hermione was left staring at the door with her mouth slightly open.

He...

But...

That...

It was a minute or two before she could put together a coherent thought. She'd never thought she'd miss the rude, abrasive, favourites-playing facade he'd maintained through their first six years, but compared to the prickly, unpredictable, hot-and-cold-by-turns Snape she had to deal with now...! He'd been marking her written Potions work with scrupulous fairness, albeit by his usual harsh standards, but whenever she actually spoke to him face to face he seemed to veer wildly between being furious with her, seeming almost concerned about her and trying to shove her firmly back into a proper 'student' role.

She could understand that last one, sort of. But as for the rest - no, she had no idea what was going through that brilliant, sarcastic head. Nor could she imagine why he wanted to see her in his office. What was he going to teach her - how to play _chess_? And if he was so angry with her, why would he give up his own time to teach her to defend herself?

"Hermione, are you all right?" Ginny asked anxiously.

"I'm... yes, mostly." She managed a small smile. "It was just... very scary. I'm glad it's over."

"Yeah, well... we're going to try harder to find whoever's doing this," Ron said, squeezing her ankle gently. "I mean, I know we haven't found anything out yet, but we will."

"Definitely." Harry scowled, hugging her a little tighter. "Don't worry, we won't let anybody hurt you or the baby. Even if we have to keep Shielding Charms on you all day long."

"Yeah." Ron nodded. "Hey, do you have any idea what it is Snape thinks you need to learn? I mean, you fought in the war and you hardly even got hurt, how much better do you need to get?"

"I don't know." Hermione shook her head. "If it keeps me from having that nightmare again, though..." She shuddered, leaning her head against Harry's shoulder again before sitting up. "But I'm fine now. Uhm... I do need to..." She looked pointedly at the door to the hospital wing's loo.

Blushing, Harry and Ron hastily let go of her. Ginny grinned, and helped her off the high bed. "Mum says to get used to that."

"I know." Hermione sighed. "I'll be right back." She headed for the toilet with as much speed as she could manage... she really did have to go... but she did pause by Professor McGonagall on her way past. "Could I... er... talk to you later?" she asked very quietly. "Privately?"

Professor McGonagall blinked and nodded. "Come up after dinner," she said just as quietly. "The password is _ergastulum_."

Hermione mentally translated the Latin and snickered. "I'm sure it feels that way," she muttered, continuing towards the loo.

* * *

_Ergastulum - a workhouse for slaves or debtors. _


	13. Chapter 13: Honesty

**Chapter 13: Honesty**

* * *

A/N: Merry Christmas, Happy Solstice, and Enjoyable Holidays to all:) Extra chapter, as promised.

* * *

Severus Snape had avoided alcohol, as much as he could, for nearly eighteen years. At first because of his position as a spy, then because he'd been on the run with Draco... And then, after a short intermission, because the last time he'd had a drink, he'd put a student up the duff.

That same student had now driven him back to the bottle. With suitable caution, naturally... but one smallish brandy wasn't going to have him chasing female students down the corridors. He could get a similar effect from a potion, if he chose, but he had no intention of going all the way back up to the hospital wing, and it seemed pointless to spend hours brewing a mild relaxant when there was a bottle of good brandy right there.

He slouched in front of the fire, sipping his brandy slowly as Akilah dozed in his lap. Hermione Granger. For six years a mere cipher, an auxiliary of Potter. The custodian of all two of the trio's working brain-cells. A shrill voice attached to an incessantly waving hand. During the war she'd become something more - a skilled aide in healing, a mediocre but dedicated soldier, someone he could rely on to keep her head when those around them started to panic.

Now she was wreaking as much havoc with his fiercely controlled emotions as all four of the Marauders, and without even doing it deliberately so he could hate her properly.

"Severus?"

He looked up to find Draco standing in the doorway. "Is something the matter?"

"No, not really. I just got sick of hanging around with the two third-years who are my only current company in the common room. They both seem to think I'm going to tear their throats out the minute they take their eyes off me." Draco shrugged. "I can go, if you'd rather have the place to yourself... or I could make tea."

Tea sounded good. Something soothing and warm, to take away the burn of the brandy. "Tea would be acceptable. I am simply... tired."

"Breaking a curse halfway through breakfast will do that, I suppose." Draco moved over to the tea service, frowning critically. "You've been drinking plain Ceylon again."

"I like plain Ceylon." Severus scowled. "It's strong enough to wake me up in the morning."

Akilah stretched, digging her claws into his stomach, and then jumped off his lap to go sniff Draco's legs. Draco looked down at her a bit nervously. "Er... I'm reformed," he said, sensibly addressing her directly instead of pretending she was just an animal. Amazing, he'd actually learned something from Hagrid. "Please don't hold the former bad tendencies against me."

"She doesn't hold it against me, and I've killed far more people than you have. Perhaps she's defective. A Kneazle lacking in an ability to detect the unsavoury and the untrustworthy."

Akilah purred, standing on her back paws to claw Draco's knees hopefully. He grinned, and bent down to scratch behind her ears. "She knows this is where you keep the milk, doesn't she?"

"I gave some to her this morning, yes." The quiet, commonplace conversation was settling him more than the alcohol had. After months of seeing nobody else, Draco's company was... comfortable. "Give her more, if she wants it... Hagrid thinks she needs building up."

Draco poured a little milk into a saucer and set it down on the hearth. Akilah immediately lost all interest in both humans. "Where did she come from? She wasn't here yesterday."

"She was a Christmas gift of sorts." Severus shrugged, sipping his brandy again. "She seems to think her chances of surviving the winter are better within the castle than without."

"She probably senses your soft spot for unwanted strays," Draco said, turning back to the tea things. "I was... wondering. Is Granger all right?"

"Yes. Shaken but unhurt." Severus quirked an eyebrow, looking at his godson thoughtfully. "Still fancy her, do you?"

Draco blushed. "Yes, actually. I... er... gave her a Christmas present."

Both eyebrows were up now. "Really? What?"

"A nice set of robes. Golds and browns... she really has to stop wearing blue. The pink and green are all right, but she just can't do blue. Or purple." Draco was blushing harder as Severus looked at him inquiringly.

"A... significant gift." For a young man to give clothing... especially something pretty, rather than a lumpy hand knitted jumper or the like... to a young woman was essentially an indication of romantic interest among pure-bloods. To give a gift that flattered the appearance of the recipient was a subtle-but-obvious way of indicating that said appearance was found pleasing.

"She won't know about that," Draco muttered, occupying himself with the tea. "I just thought... well, it seemed like a good idea at the time."

"I'm sure it did." Narcissa would have hysterics if she ever found out. Her darling boy courting a Mudblood... and no great beauty at that. Narcissa wouldn't be happy about a tall, willowy, golden-haired Muggle-born with a musical voice, lambent blue eyes and flawless creamy skin, but she'd be more easily reconciled to that than a petite, rather shrill Muggle-born with brown eyes, common pinkish skin, and a mane of untidy, wiry brown hair. Although if Severus pointed out Hermione's intellectual brilliance and magical power... Cissy wasn't completely unreasonable, she'd accept 'gifted' as a substitute for 'well-bred' or 'exquisitely beautiful', just as long as her daughter-in-law brought _something_ to the family. Of course, he was rather putting the cart before the horse there... "Draco... I know you like the girl, but how seriously have you thought about this?"

"What do you mean?" Draco sounded a little defensive.

"How serious are you?" Severus asked, watching the boy closely. "The Blacks usually marry young, if they marry at all. Your mother and both your aunts did. Are you planning to follow in the family footsteps?"

Draco made a rather lengthy production of putting biscuits on a plate and pouring the tea. Severus maintained an interrogative silence, knowing that Draco couldn't stay quiet for long. He lasted until Severus had been handed a cup of tea and Draco had sat down in the other chair, then he cracked. "I don't know. Maybe. I always sort of assumed Pansy and I would... well. That didn't really work out, obviously."

"Indeed." Draco had never chosen to share the precise contents of the note in which Pansy had terminated their relationship, but he'd seemed more embarrassed than really upset. "And you consider Miss Granger an acceptable substitute?"

"No, and stop trying to make me angry so I'll let things slip." Draco gave him a lopsided grin. "Hermione Granger is intelligent, loyal, sweet-natured and very attractive even now. I fancy her quite a lot. If we did ever get involved, then I'd be fairly serious about it. But don't start picking out wedding invitations... I haven't asked her out yet."

Severus nodded. "And the child? Your father would have been utterly appalled at the idea of raising the child of another man."

"I'm not my father," Draco said quietly, looking into the fire. "I've always wanted children, you know that. If things did... work out, I don't think I'd have any trouble with it." He smiled sadly. "It'd probably be for the best, really... everyone in my family is insane. It's probably hereditary. At least this way I'd have a shot at having one that's reasonably stable."

Severus nodded slowly. "She will, I think, be a good mother," he said, sipping his tea and staring into the fire. "A little fussy and strict, perhaps."

"I think so, too." Draco smiled again, as if this were a pleasant thought. "You don't disapprove, then?"

"No. No, I don't disapprove." Now here was a nice, tidy potential solution. Draco was very like his mother, and Cissy had indulged and adored her spouse and child beyond all reason. Draco would be good to both Hermione and her child, and she was sensible enough not to let him spoil the child too badly. Severus would even be able to keep an eye on it himself, since he was practically family. Yes, that would work very nicely. He gave his godson an approving look. "I would not advise that you rush into any declarations, but if you continue trying to win her over slowly..."

"I intend to." Draco nodded, looking a little relieved. Apparently Severus's approval was more important than he'd realised. "Slowly and carefully. She's not the sort to be won over by expensive gifts and flattery... I'll have to impress her with my intellect, I think. Good thing I've got one."

* * *

Professor McGonagall handed Hermione a teacup and indicated the open biscuit tin with a characteristically abrupt gesture. "Ginger Newt?"

"No, thank you." Hermione sipped her tea, mostly to be polite, and set it down on the table beside her. "Thank you for talking to me, Professor. I know that Professor Sinistra is my Head of House now, but... we don't really know each other well, and she doesn't know much about this." She touched her stomach lightly. "You're really the only person I've told, aside from the baby's father. And he's... uhm... I can't really talk to him about it again, if you see what I mean."

"Quite." Professor McGonagall made a wry face. "I've never been in your situation myself, but I've seen it often enough, in students and otherwise. Of course, in my day, it would have been a wandpoint-wedding - or whatever Muggle fathers use to threaten young men who meddle with their daughters - and never mind whether or not you wanted the young man involved."

"Only if I could be bullied into naming him, which I wouldn't." Hermione smiled ruefully. "I'd probably have wound up married to Ron, and we'd both have been miserable."

"I should imagine so." Professor McGonagall shook her head at the thought. "Mr Weasley is a brave fighter and a fine young man, but he most certainly is not mature enough for marriage. Arthur Weasley was so quiet and steady at that age. Only Charlie and Percy really take after him, from what I've been able to see... the others are all very much like their mother."

"Really?" Hermione considered that, looking down at her bulge. "I wonder if he or she'll be like me. If you find a perpetually raised hand and a series of eight-foot essays scampering around the castle in eleven years, let me know."

Professor McGonagall chuckled. "I will look forward to it. It's rare to find a student so enthusiastic about learning."

Hermione tried to hide her wince as she remembered Professor Snape's rather less flattering appraisal of her learning ability. "It wasn't just the learning. It was... I wanted to prove that I belonged here. That I was good enough. And..." She made a rueful face. "I can't _bear_ the idea of looking stupid."

"I quite understand," Professor McGonagall said, smiling at her. "I was much the same way as a student myself."

Hermione nodded. "It's... not just my studies, either," she said quietly. "I just... I hate knowing I've done something stupid. And I did, with this." She touched her bulge gently. "It upsets me just as much as knowing I hurt his father... Which makes me feel like such a horrible person, because how can feeling stupid possibly be as bad as hurting someone?"

"I see." Professor McGonagall sipped her tea again, giving her a thoughtful look. "I confess, Miss Granger, that in thirty-five years of teaching and twenty as a Head of House, I have never encountered anything like this particular situation. However, I will do my best to help, if I can... and anything you tell me I will hold in the strictest of confidence."

"Thank you." Hermione picked her teacup back up, fiddling with the handle aimlessly. "I don't know why I want to talk about it, really."

"The urge to confess is a strong one." Professor McGonagall took a biscuit, setting it neatly on the side of her saucer. "Better out than in, as they say... getting it off your chest will make you feel better."

"Maybe. It might also convince you that I'm an idiot, and I don't really want that," Hermione said, looking down into her tea.

"Miss Granger, I assure you that whatever it is you've done, I have heard something stupider. I _have_ been a Head of House for twenty years, and Gryffindor is not generally populated by intellectuals and forward thinkers, as much as it pains me to say so."

Hermione couldn't help giggling a little at that. "I had noticed that, yes. But I _know_ better."

"So do I, Miss Granger, but that didn't stop me from pushing Augustus Nott down a flight of stairs when I was seventeen and nearly killing him." Professor McGonagall made a wry face. "In my defence, he'd tried to stick his hand down the front of my robes, but it was still a stupid and dangerous thing to do which I greatly regret."

Hermione nodded. "That was an... an angry-stupid thing, though," she said quietly. "Mine wasn't."

"What was yours, precisely?" Professor McGonagall gave her a direct look over her glasses. "If you're ready to tell me."

"I... wasn't entirely honest with you, the first time I told you about it," Hermione said in a small voice. "What I told you was true. I... er... was _with_ someone who was seriously inebriated. I knew he wouldn't normally have... well..."

"You shagged someone who was utterly pissed and didn't remember a thing the next day, despite knowing at the time that he was far too drunk to give informed consent." Hermione stared, her jaw dropping slightly, and the Headmistress actually snickered. "My dear girl, I'm not only familiar with the terms, but I imagine I have far greater experience of both than you do. I was young once, you know, a long time ago."

Hermione blushed furiously. "Er... yes, Professor." Minerva McGonagall was a handsome woman even now... she must have been quite attractive when she was young. Certainly more so than Hermione... taller, not as scrawny, hair that behaved... "Anyway. Uhm. It wasn't just that... well, that I felt like it, and he was there. That's what he thinks, but that wasn't it."

"You said that you were already attracted to him, the first time we spoke," Professor McGonagall said, watching Hermione thoughtfully.

"It was a bit more than that." Hermione stared into her teacup. "I had... have... a crush on him. It's still there, even after all this. I know I don't know him well enough, that it's just... just me imagining that I understand him. I know it's just a crush, and that I can't use it as any sort of excuse for what I did, because I knew that was wrong. I just..." Her lip quivered. "I've never felt like this before," she whispered. "Not even about Ron."

"Oh. Oh, I do see..." Professor McGonagall's voice was quiet and oddly gentle.

"And I... oh, God, I feel so stupid." She covered her face with one hand as she took a deep breath in an attempt to make her voice steadier. "Even Lavender's not as stupid as this. I mean, she's an empty-headed, catty little cow without the sense of a Pygmy Puff, but even she's not idiotic enough to s-sleep with someone in some sort of pathetic attempt to get his attention!"

Her teacup was removed from her hand, and she heard the clink as it was set down somewhere. "Your unflattering description of your house-mate aside, Hermione, I do understand."

"I just... I know better! I do!" Hermione hid her face in both hands now, letting her hair fall forward to shield her further from the surely disappointed look in Professor McGonagall's eyes. "I just... I wanted him to realise I was a _girl_, at least, and I'd been drinking myself and... and now he'll never, ever forgive me, and I've ruined everything because I was _stupid_..."

She heard movement, and a thin arm went gently around her shoulders. Professor McGonagall must be sitting on the small, sturdy table beside her chair. "Hermione, if this is the only time you do something ungodly stupid in the pursuit of a young man, then you will have gotten off more lightly than many," she said, all the usual sharpness gone from her voice. "You are a gifted young witch, a good friend and a loyal ally. But you were still only seventeen when it happened, and there is, I assure you, no stupider period in one's entire life than the late teens and early twenties, especially when it comes to romance."

Hermione leaned into the half hug, tears overflowing at the unanticipated understanding. "That's part of why I c-couldn't take those potions everyone was telling me I could have if I wanted," she said, her voice cracking. "I knew I'd n-never have a chance with him, not after that, but I still _cared_, and when I found out..."

"It wasn't that you couldn't give up your child, but that you couldn't give up _his_." Professor McGonagall gave her shoulder a little squeeze. "That, my dear, I do understand. I can't say I've ever wanted any man's child myself, but I do understand why you couldn't let go."

"And he h-hates me for that, too, I'm sure he does." Hermione wiped her eyes and hid her face against Professor McGonagall's bony shoulder. "But I _want_ this baby... and I'll be a good m-mother, I will. I'll take the best c-care of him..."

"I'm sure you will." Professor McGonagall patted her hair gently. "And I don't think you need worry that you're a horrible person for being ashamed of your foolishness, either. We all do stupid things when we're in love - and sometimes they hurt people, and then we're rightfully ashamed of them."

In love. She'd been carefully avoiding those words. It was just a crush. Crushes could be outgrown, worn down, shaken off. Even so, the words were comforting. "I d-didn't mean to hurt him, I truly didn't..."

"There, now, I know." A clean white hanky with a thistle embroidered on one corner entered her field of vision. "Blow your nose."

Hermione straightened up and blew, feeling oddly comforted by suddenly being treated like a first-year again. (A Ginger Newt and a bethistled hanky had been the offered comfort for a terrible bout of homesickness then, along with the loan of a book. They'd worked surprisingly well, especially the book) "Thank you, Professor."

"Tch." To Hermione's surprise, Professor McGonagall shook her head. "At least while we're in private, you might as well call me Minerva."

Hermione's jaw dropped again. "Oh, Professor McGonagall, I _couldn't_..."

"It's certainly not a liberty I would usually encourage even in a former student, let alone a current one. Professor Lupin still has trouble with it, as a matter of fact." Professor McGonagall chuckled, seeming quite amused by that. "He wasn't a particularly good student, when it came to Transfiguration, and I admit I was rather hard on him. You, however, are something of a special case, Hermione. You and I have fought side by side in battle, and since you were a child, you have been taking on responsibilities that would unnerve even me... motherhood being only one." She smiled a little. "I've never been a mother, myself, or ever wished to be. I like children well enough, I suppose, but babies have always made me terribly nervous."

"Really?" Hermione had never imagined that stern, bossy, brilliant Professor McGonagall could be made nervous by anything less than a rampaging Acromantula at the very least. "Babies?"

"Oh, yes. They're fragile, noisy and prone to leaking all sorts of unpleasant substances without warning." Professor McGonagall shook her head. "The point I am trying to make, Hermione, is that you have earned the right to be treated as an adult, even if you are still a student. That includes the use of adult modes of address, including the use of first names when they are offered."

"I... thank you," Hermione sniffed and wiped her eyes with the hanky. "It does mean a lot to hear you say that, even if I'm not quite sure I can actually do it."

"Just do your best - that's all anyone can expect." Professor McGonagall nodded briskly. "And it's about time we moved your quarters. All the stairs in Gryffindor Tower must be very difficult for you, and I hear there have been complaints about your monopolizing the bathtubs."

Hermione blushed. "My back gets sore."

"Well, under the circumstances, I think a nice suite of rooms on the third floor would be much easier on you. Most of your classes will be more readily accessible from there, and you'll have a bathtub all to yourself." Professor McGonagall smiled encouragingly. "You'll also get a house-elf assigned to you. I know you don't approve of the enslavement of house-elves but I assure you that despite your hat-dropping proclivities, they have all volunteered for this particular task. House-elves are particularly devoted to the children of their families, and one of the reasons we have so many here at Hogwarts is their pleasure in tending children who are away from their homes. They are deprived, however, of babies. I imagine you will have every house-elf at Hogwarts in and out of your quarters once the child is born, although you probably won't see them. Dilly will be assigned to you - she is one of the more senior elves, but has lived all her life at Hogwarts and has never had the opportunity to tend an expectant mother. She is extremely excited by the opportunity."

"Oh." Refusing would seem positively childish, if Dilly was really that excited about the baby. And it would be nice to have her own room and not to have to try to bend over if she dropped something on the floor, which was getting really difficult. "Well... all right, then. Thank you, Prof- Minerva." She blushed, but she got the word out.

"Just don't expect me to hold the baby when it does arrive," Minerva said with a sudden grin. "As endearing as I'm sure it will be, I'd be terrified of dropping it. I will admire from a dignified distance."

* * *

Hermione waddled into her dormitory with a sigh of relief. Tomorrow, her things would be moved into another room. She wouldn't have to listen to Lavender's and Parvati's catty comments anymore. She wouldn't have to get out of the bath when she didn't want to anymore. She wouldn't have to pick glitter off her things anymore.

And she wouldn't have to face those _bloody_ stairs ever again!

"What are you doing?" Parvati asked as Hermione started gathering things up and dropping them into her trunk.

"First thing tomorrow I'm moving out." She really shouldn't snap at Parvati. She couldn't help being what she was. "Professor McGonagall thinks the stairs up to Gryffindor Tower are getting to be too much for me. And she's right, to be honest... I can hardly get up here without stopping to rest, these days. She's moving me into one of the guest rooms on the third floor."

"You're getting your own room?" Lavender glared at her. "That's not fair!"

"Neither is the two of you losing sleep when I start having to get up to pee three times a night," Hermione said tartly. "Not to mention after the baby's born - did you _want_ to hear him or her crying every two hours night and day?"

"Definitely not," Parvati said, before Lavender could respond. "And you are getting slower and slower on the stairs, I've noticed that."

"And I'll have my own bath, so I won't be putting anyone else out." Lavender frowned at that, and Hermione suspected she knew where the complaints Professor McGonagall mentioned had come from. "Anyway, you two will like having a room to yourselves, I'm sure."

Parvati brightened. "We will! And there'll be more room with only two beds in here, maybe we could get a couch or something."

"See? That'll be fun. And I'll have my own room to leave my books all over, so they won't be in your way." Hermione dropped a stack of books into the trunk and winced, rubbing her back. "Ngh. No matter what anyone tells you about miracles, pregnancy is the single most uncomfortable thing I've ever experienced. At least being hexed is over quicker."

Lavender frowned again. "Well, of course it's uncomfortable if you're running all over a school while you're doing it," she said rather haughtily. "If you were taking proper care of yourself..."

"Lavender, I'm six months pregnant. I'd be uncomfortable even if I was living in a luxurious mansion with no stairs at all and no homework to do. I'm getting heartburn that I have to take potions for every day, I'm getting woken up at three in the morning by someone kicking me in the lungs, I'm getting shooting pains in my legs and hips and the only thing preventing some truly agonizing haemorrhoids is the daily application of a salve that I would personally sell one of _your_ limbs to get more of if I ran out." Hermione dropped another pile of books into her trunk with an emphatic thump. "And this is all going to get worse and worse until I finally have to spend hours forcing a full-sized newborn out of an opening the size of a _lime_. Pregnancy is frequently disgusting, always uncomfortable and no bloody miracle, believe me!"

Parvati wrinkled her nose. "They never describe it like that in books," she said a bit doubtfully.

"The books _lie_." Hermione dug out her nightgown...a new one, the sort with a drawstring neck and yards and yards and yards of white cotton that would be loose right through her pregnancy. "They tell filthy, horrible romantic lies." She paused. "I'm still quite enjoying it, mind you. I do love my baby, and creating a new life is marvellous in its way. It's just that it's uncomfortable."


	14. Chapter 14: Making Sacrifices

**Chapter 14: Making Sacrifices**

* * *

A/N: 'Lost and Found', which I am cowriting with Whitehound under the ffn penname 'Borolin' has also been updated for Christmas. :)

* * *

Hermione rolled up her Arithmancy homework and looked at the clock. Half an hour until she had to be at the door of Professor Snape's office.

Her new room was very comfortable... smaller than the shared dormitory, of course, but there were bookshelves that she didn't have to share, a desk to do her homework at, and a bathroom with a deep bath and a rail to help pull herself out with. It was, apparently, one of the rooms usually reserved for particularly elderly O.W.L. and N.E.W.T. examiners. The house-elves had even located a cradle, which currently stood in a corner. It looked old enough to have been constructed in the time of the Founders - and 'constructed' was the right word. It was crafted of solid oak and was almost too heavy for her to move.

She patted it rather affectionately as she waddled (the right word again, curse it) past and into the bathroom. If she went now, and again right before she left, she should be all right. Whatever it was Professor Snape wanted to teach her, she didn't want to have to ask for a toilet break in the middle of it.

Call of nature taken care of, she examined herself in the mirror. The student robes didn't flatter anyone, but they looked particularly awful over a pregnancy bulge. And she flatly refused to wear makeup. She never had, except for one or two formal occasions, and even if she tried, she'd probably do it wrong. But she wanted to do something to show him that she was an adult. A responsible potential mother, not a sentimental idiot.

There was nothing she could do with her clothes, and nothing she could do with her face. That left her hair. Normally she just ignored it, but it _was_ sort of childish hanging loose like that. Frowning, she reached for her hairbrush.

Twenty-eight minutes later, she tapped on the heavy door to Professor Snape's office.

The door opened almost immediately, and she looked up at him. He frowned at her for a moment, then turned abruptly. "Come in and close the door."

She did so, watching him covertly. He looked... unsettled. "I'm sorry if I'm late, Professor. I don't move as fast as I used to."

"You are precisely on time." He gestured. "Sit down."

For the first time, Hermione looked around the office. In the middle of the small patch of clear floor, there were two chairs flanking a tiny table with... a chess set. Good Heavens. He actually _was_ going to teach her to play chess.

He'd left the choice of black or white to her. She opted for black - if he started, she'd at least have somethingto go on. She lowered herself carefully into the chair and looked up at him nervously. "I'm really no good at this."

"And simply insisting that you cannot do something is so much easier than trying to learn," he said, sneering at her as he sat down opposite her. He, damn him, was as fluidly graceful as ever, while she lurched around like a hippo on its hind legs.

"I have tried to learn. I've been trying for _years_ to learn, ever since the first time I saw that chessboard. I've tried learning out of books, memorizing strategies, Ron and Ginny have both tried to teach me..." She bit her lip, looking down at the chessboard, where the pieces were slouching and looking generally bored. "I thought if I could just get good enough, I'd be able to beat it in the nightmares."

"I see." He sounded less nasty, if no pleasanter than usual. "The difficulty being, of course, that in your nightmares, you are playing against your own mind and thus cannot defeat it. Nobody can win a game of chess played against themselves without cheating to favour one side or the other."

She nodded, swallowing hard. "I know. I... what is the point of this, then?"

"For now, for you to play as well as you are able against me." She nodded, biting her lip nervously, and after a moment he spoke again, dropping into his usual dry, lecturing tone. "This game is an assessment of your current ability. Chess is a game, which can be played to a reasonable standard by the rote memorization of standard ploys and gambits combined with a step-by-step assessment of the board's possibilities. Your lack of applied creativity should not hamper your ability to play chess. Something else is, therefore, holding you back. Play as you would normally play, and I will observe."

Hermione nodded. "Yes, sir," she said, relaxing a little. An assessment of her baseline competence. Well, it would be embarrassing, but he wasn't expecting more from her than she could do, at least.

He gave her another inscrutable look, and then nodded. "Very well. Then we will begin."

The first game lasted barely three minutes before he trapped her in a checkmate that seemed to come from nowhere. After that he seemed to deliberately hold back, moving slowly and waiting patiently while she deliberated her own moves. She lost, naturally, but she managed to take three of his pieces. She was certain he'd let her.

"Well. I do see at least one difficulty." He shooed the pieces back to their places with a flick of his fingers. "You are not playing to win. You are playing not to lose pieces. You even hesitate to strike at my own pieces. Your nightmares have made you anthropomorphize the chess men and you will not make the necessary sacrifices."

"I hate seeing them get hit," she said, watching the black pawns straggle back to their places. "I know they're only chess men, but..."

"But having been in their place, you empathize with them. Sentimental, foolish, but understandable." She looked up to see him watching her thoughtfully. "Next time we will use a Muggle chess set. That may be easier."

"Next time?"

"One lesson is hardly going to rectify your tactical failings." He leaned back in his chair. "You play chess the way you fight, Miss Granger. Your instincts are adequate, but you allow your heart to overrule them. You indulge your allies and try to shield them even when doing so will do you harm and them no good. Something I could have deduced from your continually hissed instructions to Longbottom despite your certain knowledge that I would deduct points for it."

"Better a few lost points than an explosion in a Potions classroom," Hermione said, careful not to challenge him with tone or expression. "Neville makes mistakes when he's nervous. For everyone's safety, I had to watch him."

"And you understood my role as a teacher to be purely decorative?" He raised an eyebrow, clearly daring her to answer _that_ with something he couldn't twist into an offence.

"Of course not, but there were twenty of us. You couldn't watch Neville every moment, because you had to watch everyone." She shrugged, reaching out to straighten up a slouching knight. He shook a tiny fist at her but assumed a suitably upright posture. "So I kept an eye on him and on Ron and Harry, just like Draco watched Crabbe and Goyle. You told us in our first lesson ever that we shouldn't let the people near us make mistakes."

He blinked once, clearly startled. "I did no such thing."

"Yes you did. You took a point from Harry because he hadn't kept Neville from adding his quills too early. You said it was because he wanted to make himself look good, which was a bit unfair because it was the first time Harry had ever _seen_ a potion, let alone tried to make one, and I don't think he realised that it would matter if it went a bit wrong. Anyway, if we could lose points for not helping someone, then it followed logically that we were supposed to."

"And the fact that I kept deducting points from you for doing so did not _logically_ indicate that your original assumption was inaccurate?" he asked, less sharply than usual.

"Well, no, not really. You never took points off anyone else for doing it, just me. I rather assumed it was part of your ongoing campaign to stop me from being such an insufferable know-it-all." Hermione kept her voice carefully casual, not wanting him to know how much that campaign had hurt. She'd wanted to impress him so _badly_, and he'd flatly refused to give her even a 'well done'.

"You did make a very convenient target upon which to demonstrate the requisite anti-Gryffindor bias," he said matter-of-factly as she stared at him in surprise. "It was not always... a personal criticism. You were simply the noisiest Gryffindor in the room."

Hermione blushed, trying not to look too pleased. "Really?"

"Make no mistake, Miss Granger, my bias against your House may have been slightly exaggerated, but it was not feigned. As a rule, Gryffindors are arrogant, lazy and self-absorbed. They bully the members of Slytherin House unmercifully and completely disregard Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw - who, if they were ever to work together, could probably obliterate every member of both the other houses with a patient attention to detail which would leave no evidence whatsoever to incriminate them. You are, I will concede, neither lazy nor particularly self-absorbed, but you have always been arrogant. Proud of your intellect and your talent, content to rely on your exceptional memory for the written and spoken word rather than making the effort to think for yourself."

Hermione hung her head. The criticism hurt, but the buried compliments took a lot of the sting out of it. An intellect and talent to be proud of, an exceptional memory... neither self-absorbed nor lazy, he had noticed how hard she worked... "I've been trying to do better with that. Uhm. I remember quite a lot of what you wrote in your Potions book, and I took a lot of notes. I've been trying to trace your conclusions back to the source - to work out why you made the changes you did, I mean. It's been fascinating, although Madam Pince is really getting annoyed about all the books I've been taking from the Potions section."

"Indeed." He quirked an eyebrow, actually looking interested. "Reverse engineering is not precisely creativity, Miss Granger, but it is a beginning. Have you been able to learn why I made the changes I did?"

"Some of them. And I'm sort of embarrassed that I didn't think of them myself. I did know better. I _do_ have a good memory, and I should have remembered what we learned about fluxweed in third year and realised that there was no possible way that six Ashwinder eggs would be enough to counter it, just for example. But I was so used to just doing what the book said..."

"That, Miss Granger, is why so few students do more than scrape by in N.E.W.T. level Potions." He looked almost pleased, now, and gave her a tiny nod of approval. "Although they have the technical ability to brew the requisite Potions, most have simply not retained enough herb-lore and so on to see the pitfalls in the text. True skill at potion-making requires not only an excellent memory, but its application - otherwise, the first time that you 'forget' that Bubotubor pus is explosive when mixed with citrus in any form tends to be your last."

Hermione nodded. It made perfect sense. You only needed so much skill to follow a clearly written set of instructions. But to experiment, or even to adapt an existing potion, you needed an absolutely encyclopaedic knowledge of all the ingredients, as well as being able to remember how each one interacted with each of the others, how they mixed in groups, what could not be mixed without a third mitigating factor, what would nullify the mitigating ingredient and make the potion dangerous again... "It seems so obvious when I think about it," she said, making a rueful face. "I feel incredibly stupid for not seeing it earlier." "Good. Incredibly stupid is a fairly accurate assessment." He didn't say it nearly as nastily as usual, though. "Even so, realizing said stupidity is further than most students ever progress even at the N.E.W.T. level." He paused, and then gave her another thoughtful look. "Merely performing the written work - a minor part of N.E.W.T. level Potions at best - will not be enough. Since you are actually applying yourself to research in your spare time, it might as well be made useful. Next time you may bring your work with you. I will examine it and see if there is anything useful enough to be turned into an extra-credit essay."

Hermione stared at him. No horrible remark or sudden yanking away of the proffered treat seemed forthcoming. "Really? You wouldn't mind?"

"If I did, I wouldn't have offered." He gave her a familiar you-utter-idiot look. "That will be all for this evening, Miss Granger. I will expect you back here promptly at seven on Saturday evening, with your research." He paused and gave her stomach the exact same suspicious, nervous look that it routinely got from elderly teachers and teenaged boys alike. "For now, you may return to your room. I understand you require... ah... plenty of rest."

Nervous suspicion was an improvement on utter indifference or outright hostility, and Hermione couldn't help beaming as she awkwardly got to her feet. "I do get tired easily," she said, resting a hand absently on her back. _Ow_. "But it's not too bad yet. And... thank you for this. You were right... it is a weakness I need to address."

He snorted, but he nodded and watched her with an unreadable expression as she straightened up and smoothed her robes over her stomach. "I have spent the last six and a half years trying to convince you that you do not know everything and that you need to learn to think for yourself. I certainly do not intend to give up now that success is at last in sight."

She smiled at him. "As painful as it has been at times, I do appreciate it. Thank you, and goodnight."

* * *

Severus ploughed through his marking, having even more difficulty than usual focusing on the mindless drivel routinely produced by first-years. It was difficult enough even without something more interesting to think about.

Like Hermione Granger's hair. He'd never seen it in anything but an untouched and untamed mass. (Had she worn it differently at the Yule Ball? He didn't recall seeing her, and surely he would have if it had been its usual eye-catching mop.) He hadn't been prepared for it to be up. It had actually looked quite attractive, pinned into a fluffy knot on the top of her head. And it had, it seemed, been hiding one of her most striking features entirely.

Hermione Granger's colouring was not up to the standard of the pure-blooded by any means - light brown hair and pinkish-fair skin simply wasn't dramatic enough, although her large brown eyes were passable. She had other features, however, that more than compensated for that by wizarding standards. Robes tended to conceal the finer details of body-shape, and most pure-bloods - or persons like himself, who had spent all their adult lives amongst wizardkind - had developed a rather more refined means of assessing personal beauty than the size and heft of bosom and backside. (After all, anyone with a rudimentary grasp of Charms could have big knockers and a perky arse, at least for a while.) A pretty hand, a dainty ankle, a pair of melting eyes or a slim neck were the features that drew the eye in robes, showing that a girl was something out of the common way.

And Hermione Granger had possibly the loveliest neck he had ever seen. Slender, gracefully proportioned, framed by little strands of wavy hair caressing flawless pale skin... when she had passed him and sat down he had spent an embarrassing moment simply staring at it. Did the girl have any idea that she'd been hiding under all that dreadful hair a feature that would have had boys _fighting_ to sit behind her so they could look at it?

Her hands were almost as perfectly proportioned as her neck. A little swollen, perhaps, thanks to her pregnancy, but only the slightest bit. Her fingers were still slender and neither spiderishly long nor stubbily short. Her palms were soft and pink and the backs of her hands smooth. He'd had to drag his eyes away before his mental catalogue got as far as her wrists, but they were very attractive from what he'd seen out of the corner of his eye.

Severus frowned, dropping the last of the essays onto the pile to be returned, having scrawled a particularly vindictive comment at the bottom to the effect that the student's brain was composed entirely of lard and air. Seeing Hermione as a grown woman was bad enough. Seeing her as a very _attractive_ grown woman was even worse. Especially now she was finally beginning to think for herself. Knowing she had been following up his own early research, beginning to finally understand the true complexity of the art of potion-making... that only made her even more appealing.

Akilah climbed onto his lap, and he lowered a hand to stroke her absently. "Next time, perhaps I ought to introduce you to Miss Granger," he said, looking down at her as she circled in his lap, sharp claws digging into his thighs. "I would certainly be interested to know what you think of her."

Akilah mewed, then stopped her circling to wrestle his hand into submission. "Ouch!" He yanked his hand away from her sharp claws and sharper teeth, wincing. She was careful not to draw blood, but it still hurt. "If you keep that up, I won't give you any milk at bedtime."

The Kneazle gave him a look that conveyed 'you wouldn't dare' as clearly as any words and curled up to sleep in his lap. Just as he was ready to leave his desk. Kneazles really were astonishingly catlike in some ways.

* * *

When Hermione opened her door, (her own, unshared door!) she found a house-elf fussing with her pillows. "Hello, Miss Granger!" the house-elf piped, beaming up at her. "I is Dilly, and the Headmistress is assigning me to look after you." She frowned suddenly. "The Headmistress promises that you is not leaving hats around anymore."

"Er... no. No more hats." Hermione blushed. "I'm sorry about that."

"Miss was very young," Dilly said, seeming somewhat mollified by the apology. "Miss is to ask Dilly for anything she needs, anything at all - if Dilly is not here, just call and I is coming at once. Miss is not to be running about the castle in her condition."

"Thank you, Dilly. I'll try to keep the... er... running around to a minimum." Hermione set her bag on a chair and looked around. There was a loaded tea tray on a small table and steam wreathing invitingly out of the bathroom. "Thank you, Dilly... did you run a bath?"

"Yes, Miss. Dilly understands that hot baths help rest Miss's back." Dilly looked pleased with herself. "Miss is to have a hot bath and some tea, and then an early night. Miss requires plenty of rest."

Hermione stared at her. This was definitely a bossier house-elf than the usual kind. "Well, maybe a short bath, but I don't really need any tea."

Dilly frowned. For someone two feet tall, with a nose like a button mushroom and round blue eyes as large as saucers, she did an amazing imitation of Mrs Weasley. "Miss needs to keep up her strength," she said sternly. "Miss must think of the baby."

"Yes, I suppose Miss must." Hermione couldn't help giggling at the house-elf's resolute expression. "I'll go have that bath, then."

The bath had been lightly scented with rose and sandalwood, and Hermione didn't leave it until the water had cooled noticeably. Dilly was gone when she peeked out of the bathroom, but she went and had a cup of tea and a biscuit anyway, just in case the house-elf was still watching. Dilly was clearly very anxious to look after her, and she didn't want the little elf to feel unappreciated.

She was contemplating a second biscuit (surely it wouldn't do the baby any harm if she violated her strict healthy-and-nourishing-food-only diet with just one custard cream?) when someone knocked on the door. "Who is it?" Hermione called. Even before Harry's would-be assassin had started lurking about, she'd known better than to say 'come in' before knowing who it was.

"It's Ginny. Can I come in and see your new room?"

"Of course, come in!" Hermione didn't bother to hoist herself to her feet, settling instead for giving Ginny a little wave as she peeked around the door. "Want some tea? And I have biscuits."

Ginny looked around the room as she headed over to the nice little tea table and the two comfortable chairs that had appeared while Hermione was learning about chess. "Wow. If I'd known getting knocked up would get me my own room, my own fireplace, my own bathroom _and_ my own house-elf, I'd've put a bit more effort into getting Harry alone the night of the victory celebration," she said, shaking her head and grinning at Hermione with good-natured envy. "Mum'd have a fit, of course."

"Of course. Unless he made an honest woman of you, and then she'd be thrilled." Hermione grinned. "And he would, probably, but I wouldn't recommend it. Harry's very sweet, but..."

"But he's a little more mature than Ron, which is to say more so than the average twelve-year-old." Ginny grinned. "I'm not in any hurry, either. It is an awfully nice room, though."

"It is. And delightfully Lavender-free," Hermione said, taking that second biscuit. "If I'd heard one more mutter from her on the subject of my loose morals and nonexistent marriage-prospects..."

"Is she still doing that?" Ginny shook her head. "Daft. I can't believe anyone would hold a grudge like that over _Ron_."

"He used her to make me jealous and then ditched her when he got tired of her. I don't blame her for still being angry." Hermione sipped her tea and sighed. "I just wish she'd take it out on him. None of it was _my_ idea."

"No." Ginny leaned over and patted her arm. "Honestly, I was quite glad when you two split up. He doesn't deserve you, the great freckled pillock."

Hermione giggled. Ginny didn't think much of most of her brothers, with Charlie being the only exception now that Bill's judgement had lapsed so horribly as to let him marry Fleur. "He's really not that bad, we're just... not very compatible. At all."

Ginny nodded. "I've always wondered... how exactly did you break it off?" she asked, taking a biscuit. "I know you must have - he wouldn't have had the nerve. He won't talk about it, though."

Hermione grinned suddenly. "It was all very civilized, in a weird way. It was after the victory celebrations, about mid-morning when people were starting to wake up. I found him in the kitchen of Malfoy Manor clutching a cup of tea and whimpering. And... well, I knew about Cynthia, and I'd just gotten knocked up, although I didn't know that yet. So I said hello, and he said hello, and I said I thought we were really better off as friends, and he said he thought so too, and... that was it, more or less."

Ginny stared at her. "That was it?"

"That was it. We were both horribly hung-over and not at all inclined to make any sort of scene, which helped, but... well. We'd come close before, this just sort of formalized it." Hermione grinned ruefully. "I gave him a hangover potion, he gave me a cup of tea, and we've been friends again ever since."

"Wow." Ginny nibbled her biscuit with a thoughtful expression on her face. "I thought breaking up was supposed to involve fighting and stuff."

"Well, we'd done that the night before. We've done it quite a lot over the years, actually." Hermione sipped her tea. It tasted a little odd, and she suspected that something herbal had been done to it. She'd never liked herbal teas much... a nice English Breakfast was more her thing. "I didn't really feel any need to do it again."

"I suppose I can see why." Ginny shrugged. "Not that I ever knew what you saw in him."

"You're his sister, you're not supposed to." Hermione smiled at her rather affectionately. "I feel the same way about Harry, really... I'm very fond of him, but I really don't see any appeal there, you know, as such."

"I know, and I like it that way." Ginny took another biscuit, having disposed of the first one at speed. "Did you know there's a rumour that Harry's the baby's dad?"

"I think there's a rumour like that about nearly every male I know, including Colin Creevey," Hermione said sourly. "And no, it was _not_ Colin."

"'Course not. What girl in her right mind would get her kit off in front of Colin? He'd take a picture as soon as look at it."

Hermione nearly choked on her tea, the laugh was so sudden. Ginny had definitely inherited Mrs Weasley's earthy sense of humour. "That too. Besides, he's too... enthusiastic. I'm sure it'd be off-putting."

"Oh, definitely. At least Dennis can talk quietly. Colin enthuses about everything at the top of his voice." Ginny shook her head, snickering quietly. "Anyway, Colin's involved in a passionate and exclusive love-affair with his camera."

"Cameras. Plural. He has a whole harem of them."

"Oh, Hermione, that's awful!" Ginny was laughing and making a disgusted face both at once. "Anyway, I know it can't have been Harry, because if it'd been possible to get him away from the crowd for more than thirty seconds _I'd_ have done it, which I've been telling people whenever they bring it up. Shuts them up quite fast."

"Good. Now if you can just give similarly solid alibis to Professor Lupin, all of your brothers except Percy, Mad-Eye Moody - "

"Oh, _yuck_, not Mad-Eye!"

"I'd rather seduce a Knarl, yes, but I _have_ heard that theory. Also Kingsley Shacklebolt - "

"His boyfriend'd be damn surprised about that one."

"So would Kingsley. And then there's Justin Finch-Fletchley, Neville Longbottom, Terry Boot - "

"Anything with trousers, then?"

"Except for your dad, yes. And anyone else really seriously married - the ones that wouldn't stray even if I offered."

Ginny shuddered. "So you know there's a betting pool, then?"

"Neville told me. He was very indignant. It was quite sweet." Hermione had taken some satisfaction in the knowledge that of the seventy-two guesses, not one was accurate.

"None of them are right, are they?" Ginny asked, and then smirked when Hermione gave her a startled look. "I know that expression, Hermione Granger, that's your 'I know the answer and you don't, ha ha' look. Of course, if none of them are right, that narrows the field down quite a lot..."

"Ginny!" Ginny wasn't stupid. She might work it out. And Ginny, like all the other Weasleys, simply could not keep her mouth shut when she was angry.

"Don't worry, I still haven't been able to work it out. The trouble is that everyone kept moving around so much that nobody really knows who was there, where, and for how long. For all I know you had it off with Professor Flitwick, Seamus Finnegan and a Venomous Tentacula in the middle of the ballroom."

"Ginny, that's disgusting." But, thankfully, nowhere near accurate. "Go away, before you give me nightmares. I've been ordered to have an early night, anyway."

"Really? By who? Professor Snape?"

"Him and the house-elf who's been assigned to look after me. And by 'look after me' I mean the way your mum does it." Hermione grinned. "She flat out ordered me to take a long hot bath, have a cup of tea and then get an early night. In a polite and servile way, but it was still an order."

"Weird." Ginny shook her head, snagging another biscuit as she headed for the door. "I almost forgot to ask... what did Snape want, anyway?"

Hermione shrugged. "He's teaching me to play chess. Better, I mean."

"What... chess? Really?"

"As a means of improving my tactics and so on, yes."

Ginny shook her head. "He's finally cracked. Poor man. All those years of strain."

"Actually, I think it's going to be very helpful." Hermione realised she was beaming a little sentimentally and covered for it hastily. "He's letting me do some extra-credit work to keep my Potions marks up, too."

"Oh, I see." Ginny snickered. "Well, I wouldn't dream of coming between you and your one true love, Hermione. If it were _possible_ for homework to father offspring, I know where I'd put my Sickle."


	15. Chapter 15: School Politics

**Chapter 15: School Politics **

* * *

**A/N:** Sorry about the delay in posting this chapter. My fault, again... the extra chapter for Christmas put me a bit behind on the final betas.

* * *

Pansy Parkinson wasn't stupid. She'd been a bit under-subtle as a kid, of course... well, all right, she'd laid it on with a trowel. She'd been young and relatively innocent. She'd improved.

And Professor Snape had definitely made a very interesting suggestion about solidifying her grip on the leadership of Slytherin. There was no reason the boys shouldn't follow her lead, as well as the girls... and Vince had been quite pleased with the idea of being her right hand man. He knew he needed _someone_ to guide him through life, and he and Draco weren't speaking anymore.

He was not, however, much use as a spy. For that she'd recruited Theodore Nott. Theo was an old friend, and even if he was no use in a fight anymore - nerve gone completely since the War, it was quite sad - he was clever and sneaky and hardly ever got noticed. He'd been happy to be able to do something in their traditional battle to Do Gryffindor Down, even if he could no longer handle the direct confrontations.

Pansy had always hated Gryffindor House, but the War had set her loathing in stone. _They_ had ruined everything. And hardly gotten touched themselves - Slytherin, Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw had all lost housemates, but the Gryffs had gotten by without a single death, at least among the current students. (Spinnet had snuffed it, hadn't she? One of the snotty bints off the old Gryffindor Quidditch Team, anyway) They might have won the War, but as Professor Snape said, that was a temporary thing that she would just have to pretend to put up with _for now_. In the meantime, she was going to do her damndest to get the House Cup away from them just once before she left. She'd even let Hufflepuff or Ravenclaw have it... the important thing was for Gryffindor to _lose_.

"Well?" She glanced around to check again for listeners. No... they had the chilly corridor all to themselves. Hardly anyone but the Slytherins knew how far the dungeons really extended, and they were a nice quiet place to have a clandestine conversation.

"They still don't know who's trying to kill Potter," Theo said quietly. He'd lost weight again, and Pansy made a mental note to have Vince remind him to eat. "If anyone is... could be a general plot against the Gryffindors. The attacks haven't been too well focused so far."

"Not that I mind, but I do wish I knew who was doing it," Pansy said, frowning thoughtfully. "It's not likely to be one of us, unless it's one of the little kids... the older students know better curses and poisons than those."

"Could be a Hufflepuff. Between Diggory, Abbott and Macmillan, they're not too happy with Potter even if he did lead them to victory. I think they've worked out that they seem to be the ones taking all the casualties." Theo shrugged. "They're patient and not usually up on their curses the way we are."

"And if it's a Hufflepuff, they might be quite willing to take out a few of Potter's friends first so he knows how it feels." Pansy nodded. It wasn't a certainty by any means, but it was a good theory. "What about the other thing?"

"Nobody knows. Not even the teachers... I slipped an Extendable Ear in the staff room window." Theo shook his head. "For a Gryffindor, Granger's not bad at keeping secrets... from what I heard in the library, even Potter and the Weasleys don't know who the father is."

Pansy frowned. "Damn. The harder she makes this, the more likely it seems that there's some huge potential for blackmail, here. I mean, if she's too ashamed to even tell Potty and the Weasel..."

"You don't think she shagged Flitwick, do you?" Theo asked, making a disgusted face. "They've always gotten on, and she'd probably rather die than admit it if she had."

"So would I. What a disgusting thought." Pansy scowled, pulling her cloak tighter around her and leaning against the wall. "None of this makes any sense. Granger the bookworm actually _managing_ to get knocked up by someone who isn't a Weasley, for a start... think she's lying about that?"

Theo shook his head. "She's been firm on that right from the start, according to Padma Patil. She said that Parvati says Granger's dead relieved that Weasley's moved on. Didn't even seem bothered when Brown brought up all the times he cheated on her."

"Huh. All right, so even if she did manage to get someone else into bed, why would she keep it? She's been able to brew potions that simple since first or second year, most likely... and even if she couldn't, they're not that hard to get hold of. Why mess up her N.E.W.T. year with a baby? I mean, I'd understand it if it was the Weasley girl - they all breed like rabbits. But I'd have thought Granger would rather die than get less than all O's in her exams."

"Maybe she has moral objections to those potions," Theo said, a little stiffly. He probably did himself... a lot of the older families did. Given that those older families often only managed one or two healthy children in a generation as it was, Pansy could appreciate their reasoning.

"Doesn't seem like her. She's not sentimental." Pansy frowned. "Brown, Weasley... them I'd expect it of, but Granger?"

"Does seem a little out of character." Theo shrugged. "But if you want to get at her, you'd have better luck just shoving her down the stairs."

Pansy snorted. "If you're going to try to get me to outsmart myself, Theo, you'll have to try harder than that."

Theo smirked. He knew how the older families - most pure-bloods, really - felt about healthy offspring. Managing to 'accidentally' kill a Gryffindor might raise her credit with the other Slytherins; killing an unborn baby would get her a world of trouble. Muggle-born or not, potential fecundity had value. "Just making sure I haven't allied myself with someone who doesn't see the long term."

"I may hate her - and believe me, I do - but I'm not going to let her ruin my position." Pansy frowned. "Besides, pushing her down the stairs would be much too kind."

* * *

"Hermione?" There was a quiet tap on her door. "Are you here?"

"Dilly will get the door!" Dilly squeaked, giving Hermione a don't-you-move look. She scampered to the door, pulling it open and letting Justin Finch-Fletchley through. "Does Miss want tea for her guest?"

"Yes, please." Hermione smiled at Justin. Yet another good thing about having her own room... non-Gryffindor guests were permitted. "Forgive me for not getting up, but I'm under strict orders to rest for an hour after dinner, without touching my homework. Madam Pomfrey told Dilly to make sure I did, and if I do something as athletic as walking across the room, I think I might lose my endless-supply-of-fresh-tea privileges."

"I understand." He smiled as she waved him into the other seat. "It must be nice having your own room... and your own house-elf."

"She pushes me around something shocking," Hermione said, grinning. "She's started pulling my books out of my hands if I sit up reading too late. I think Madam Pomfrey and Professor McGonagall are using her as a secret weapon in their plot to make me take care of myself instead of getting good marks in my N.E.W.T.s."

"Well, looking after the baby is important too." He returned the grin. "I hope I'm not interrupting - I could come back later."

"Oh, no... I have half an hour of not-studying left to do, and talking is more interesting than knitting, really." She held up her needles. "Can you tell what it's supposed to be?"

Justin looked at it, tilting his head to the side a bit. "A little cardigan?"

"I'm definitely getting better," Hermione said happily. "It's a bit bigger than I planned, but it's definitely cardigan shaped. And the baby will grow into it."

"They do that." Justin nodded. "Or so I hear, anyway." He smiled at her, the scar across his cheek giving him a decidedly piratical look. She wondered how he'd explained it - and the multitude of others - to his family. "How are you, anyway? Any varicose veins yet?"

"Thankfully, there are potions for that." She raised her eyebrows at him. "And how do you know about those?"

Justin laughed. "I have a baby niece. My sister told me all about it. In rather more detail than I wanted to hear."

"Ah." Hermione nodded. Dilly reappeared, with the usual enormous tea tray, and Hermione did her duty as hostess; she poured, offered milk and sugar (accepted) and a biscuit (politely refused). "Did you want to talk about anything specific, or did you just come up to ask about my veins?"

"A little of both." Justin sipped his tea. "After the attack at Christmas, we were all worried about you. As Head Boy, I'm expressing the official concern and support of all the prefects... even Slytherin, although Pansy looked very sour about it."

"She would. She loathes me - and it's not just because I'm a Gryffindor, either." Hermione frowned at her knitting. Had she gone around a row too many on this sleeve? "Thank you, Justin. It means a lot. And congratulations on being Head Boy... I think I forgot to say it, before."

"You did, but it's all right. After fighting through the end of the war with you - including waking up to find you and Professor Snape kneeling over me in that field keeping me from bleeding to death - I'd feel particularly ungrateful if I expected an extra pat on the back for getting a badge."

"You forgot to mention the enthusiastic kiss you got when you tackled Macnair just before he took my head off," Hermione said, touching the scar on her jaw and smiling at him. "I was very grateful."

"So was I." Justin grinned suddenly. "And if I had any interest in women whatsoever, I'd definitely have attempted to follow up on that kiss. You did it very nicely."

Hermione blushed. "Yes, well... thank you. I do flatter myself that I neither dribble nor bump teeth."

"I was impressed." Justin shrugged, and sipped his tea again. "Apart from the official messages of support and encouragement, I wanted to talk to you, Muggle-born to Muggle-born."

"Of course... about what?"

"Being a Muggle-born, really." Justin shook his head, rubbing his thumb absently along the scar that ran from his temple to the corner of his mouth. "How did you tell your parents about the war?"

"I lied a lot. And avoided going home. They still don't know how bad it was - keeping them away from wizards meant they couldn't get the _Daily Prophet_, thank goodness. They know there was some fighting, but..."

"Some fighting. Eleven days of increasingly intense skirmishing and three of all out war," Justin said wryly. "Some fighting was more or less how I described it, too. Of course, I had a lot of scarring to explain. Fortunately, being hit with a hail of broken glass from a wand leaves scarring not unlike getting thrown through a plate glass window. My parents were upset, but being thrown through a window sounds so normal compared to some of the other things I've been doing for the last seven years."

"I can see their point." Hermione smiled ruefully. "My parents reacted rather the same way to me joining, as my dad put it, the pudding club during the victory celebrations. They were so happy that I was alive to _be_ pregnant that they didn't get too upset."

"I can see _their_ point. It could be so much worse, after all." Justin leaned back in his chair. "And, war aside - or drunken brawling among the wild Scotsmen, as it was explained to the rest of my family - it hasn't been so bad while we're at school. I mean, going away to boarding school is... easy to explain. But what about next year? There are no wizard universities, and there's no way I could go to an ordinary one now. I'll be able to find work easily enough in the wizarding world, but..." He shrugged. "My parents and my sister know what I am, but we can't exactly tell my entire extended family. Not to mention the few friends I still have from before I got my letter. What am I going to tell them I'm doing? Waving a wand for the good of the realm?"

Hermione winced. "That's... not going to be easy, is it?"

"That's an understatement. I've been seriously considering having my parents tell everyone I've run off to join a cult. At least that would explain my disappearance from their lives." Justin rubbed his forehead, sighing. "I love my family. I miss them. I just... don't know what to tell them."

"I wish I could help. It's just my parents and me, since my Nana died, so... it's easier, for them. And I never really had any friends before I came here." She shrugged. "My parents were planning to tell people that I was going to university in Europe. Of course, that works better when your family and friends don't pop over to Europe on a whim to buy coffee."

The Honourable Justin Finch-Fletchley, scion of an old and wealthy landed line, blushed and grinned rather sheepishly. "It does, yes. What are they going to tell people now?"

"That I had a baby and I'm taking a year off school to reconsider my options. By the time that's over, we'll have come up with another plan." Hermione looked at him thoughtfully. "But considering your options could work for you too. Tell everyone you've decided to take a year off to travel. You _could_ travel... explore the wider wizarding community, maybe meet some nice men."

"That's... a thought." Justin nodded slowly. "I'd quite like to travel. Maybe I could do both. If I could get a position with International Magical Cooperation, maybe..."

"That could work. It would at least give you some time to work out what to tell people. And working in an unspecified-but-important Ministry job might make a good enough explanation in the longer term."

"It might. Thank you." Justin smiled at her. "It's just... hard. Trying to live in two worlds at once."

"I know. Believe me, I know." Hermione returned the smile. "At least you're never going to have to explain why the pictures of your baby move."

* * *

"I think we've been spoiled by Malfoy and You-Know... I mean, Voldemort," Ron said, slouching at the table with an air of deep gloom. "They were always so helpful with leaving clues and all."

"There was nothing at all to be detected from the poison or the butterflies?" Ginny asked, for the third time. "Professor Lupin didn't know _anything_ else?"

"Just what Hermione told us at the time," Harry said patiently. "Could be anyone in third year or older. Second-year if they're bright."

"And there's no way to know if the simple means are because whoever-it-is is too young to know any better ones, or to make us _think_ that they're too young," Hermione agreed, flipping through her Potions notes. She'd decided to write them out again more neatly, if Professor Snape was going to be looking at them, and try to incorporate the additions and footnotes she'd scribbled on the earlier bits.

"But it's bound to be a Slytherin, right?" Ron leaned forward. "I mean, who else would want Harry dead?"

"That's a good point," Harry said, frowning. "Malfoy may have reformed... stop making that face, Ron, I have to admit hacking off his own arm was pretty conclusive...but that doesn't mean all the others have. Crabbe, for example... this is about his intellectual level."

"That's true." Ginny nodded. "Crabbe's not bright, but he'd be up to something like this."

"It couldn't possibly be Crabbe," Hermione said firmly. They all looked at her, and she rolled her eyes. "I mean... butterflies?"

"They are a bit girly for Crabbe, yeah. Good point, Hermione." Ron chewed on a thumbnail thoughtfully. "What about Pansy? She likes all that frilly girly stuff..."

Extensive speculation ensued among the other three while Hermione concentrated on actual work. In the end it had been decided that Pansy, Daphne, and Blaise Zabini ("I've always thought he was a bit sissy, Harry, haven't you?") were the likeliest suspects. Millicent Bulstrode, it was generally agreed, would have gone for Hermione first, and in any case, would simply throw them out of a window and be done with it.

Hermione listened, a little frown creasing her forehead. They'd assumed automatically that a Slytherin had to be to blame. They usually did, now that she thought about it. And while Draco had been a solid bet through most of their schooling, it seemed downright foolish to simply assume that a Slytherin must be to blame now. She knew from long experience, however, that there was no point in interrupting Harry and Ron with an opposing viewpoint once they were on a roll.

Hopefully she'd be able to reason with them once they calmed down a bit.

* * *

"Severus? May I have a word?"

This was why he avoided the staff room. People insisted on _speaking_ to him. Some, like Pomona and Filius, were sometimes interesting. Others were sometimes amusing (Hooch) or invariably deadly dull (Sinistra). But they all seemed to want to talk all the time. And now Lupin was back and even he couldn't leave Severus alone to have his tea and read his _Alchemist's Review_ in peace.

"If you must," he said, pointedly _not_ closing his magazine or in any way giving Lupin his full attention. "What is it now?"

"I wanted to thank you for taking the time to help Hermione," Lupin said in his usual slightly tentative, too-soft voice. The man was a walking apology, and it was intensely irritating... all the more when one knew that the soft facade only masked the beast within. "It's very generous of you to give up your free time."

"Had she had a proper grounding in Defence, I wouldn't need to," Severus said sharply. "Or had she not spent the last six years being taught carelessness and bias by her idiot friends."

Lupin winced. "Harry says Hermione has devoted a great deal of her free time to the study of Defence," he said, still meek and mild. "I'm sure she appreciates the extra lessons."

"She appears to do so." Severus gave him a disapproving look. "I trust you are not making too many concessions to her... condition in your own classes. She may not be as agile as she was, but there is nothing wrong with her mind or her wand hand."

"Madam Pomfrey has cautioned us against tiring her too much," Lupin said, just a shade of defensiveness in his tone. Probably having the girl sit through every class and perhaps throw a genteel hex or two. "But she is doing quite well."

"As I would expect." Severus looked down at his magazine and then back at Lupin. "Is that all?"

"I... yes." Lupin's shoulders slumped slightly. "It's good of you to help her, given your feelings towards her friends and her House."

Severus snorted, and at last the werewolf went away. Stirring his tea absently, Severus looked down at his magazine without reading it. Good of him to help her. He snorted again. The werewolf wouldn't think it was so good of him if he knew that Severus had sullied pure, innocent Hermione Granger with his greasy hands. Never mind that the fault hadn't been his. The Order would rise up against him in a primarily Gryffindor mass if it was known, with Lupin first to go for the throat.

He smirked a little as he imagined it... the outrage at the idea of sweet little Hermione carrying the Greasy Git's child, at the impotent fury of her friends when they realised that she'd been his, even briefly. And she would defend him, shamed though she would be by it, because she had enough common decency to admit her culpability in this.

As enjoyable as the explosion would be, though, he wouldn't wish it on the child. Better to be a fatherless bastard than known to be the bastard of Severus Snape; and the child might not yet be fatherless. Even if Draco couldn't win her, a woman who could produce a healthy child was a valuable prospect, even if most wizards wouldn't think of it in quite such blunt terms.

That wouldn't be the only attraction, of course. She'd put her hair up again for their next lesson, and he'd been struck anew by how perfect and how _finished_ she was. Most of her classmates still had the awkward, incomplete look of adolescence; even with her pregnancy making her movements slow and ungainly, Hermione was all finely modelled lines and perfect proportion. He'd found more than one excuse to pass behind her and admire her slender neck, and to appreciate the graceful movements of her hands across the board.

And oh, the look on Lupin's face if he knew that Snivellus was admiring the lovely lines of the student he was being so good as to devote his spare time to...!

* * *

She'd never really had the opportunity to spend a lot of time looking at his hands before. Now, watching as he walked her through the mistakes she had made, moving the pieces across the board, she couldn't help noticing them. Thin, covered with faint scars from a lifetime of potions-brewing, with long fingers and slightly knobbly knuckles. In repose, they probably wouldn't look like anything much. In motion, though, she was so fascinated by them that she failed to pay sufficiently close attention to what they were actually doing.

"Checkmate."

"Again?" She looked at the board and then covered her eyes. "Ohhh, I _watched_ you make that move, and I didn't even realise."

"Obviously not." He gathered up the scattered pieces - simple, faceless, unmoving pieces of wood. He'd been right... it was much easier when the pieces couldn't protest or look up at her with little faces. "But you have, finally, managed to keep your eyes on the board or your opponent for an entire game. That's progress."

"It is. I didn't flinch once." Mostly because she'd been thinking embarrassing things about his hands, but still. "Should we play again?"

"Two games are enough for tonight, I think." He'd never actually mentioned it, after her first lesson, but he still seemed worried about letting her get tired. "You may have some tea, if you wish, while I look over your research."

She'd already had one cup of tea, and that was a mistake. She'd been trying to ignore the increasing pressure in her bladder, and when she stood up, she winced. "Er... sir, I'll have to excuse myself for a minute."

"Why - oh." He looked slightly uncomfortable. "Of course."

Until now, she'd managed to avoid the necessity. Now she blushed a lot. "Is there... uh... anywhere closer than the one on the first floor?" Stairs were uncomfortable even when her bladder was empty.

"No." He watched her as far as the door, then made an impatient noise. "If that's as fast as you can move, it'll be your bedtime before you make it back down here."

"I can't help it," Hermione said, gritting her teeth. Now that she was up and moving, she _really_ had to go. "This is my best speed right now."

"In the interests of efficiency, then," he muttered, and followed her out. "This way." He led her down the featureless corridor and stopped in front of a bracket that looked to have been on the wall since the dungeons were lit by wooden torches. "Snape."

A door appeared next to the bracket and swung open. Hermione stared at it. Was he taking her where she thought he was taking her?

"We don't have all night, Miss Granger," he said icily, and shooed her in ahead of him. It was exactly where she thought he was taking her - his private quarters. She was standing in a smallish room that had probably been a reasonably sized one before he'd lined every wall with overstuffed book-cases. There was a fireplace at one end and a desk at the other, and another door on the other side. He shooed her through that, too, and she found herself in his bedroom.

Dear God. His _bedroom_. There wasn't a girl in Hogwarts who hadn't speculated.

It was actually a bit disappointing... the standard Hogwarts four-poster with faded green and blue brocade curtains, a couple of worn rugs, and the usual bedroom furniture. No mirror, though, and the only decoration was a tiny landscape on one wall, barely more than a miniature.

"Are you quite finished staring?" He sounded deeply annoyed... and looked a little embarrassed. Hermione stuttered something incoherent, and he indicated a third, smaller door. "Through there. As quickly as possible."

"Er... all right." She hurried across his bedroom and into the blessed haven of the bathroom. Which was small, and managed to convey an air of faint untidiness despite being quite clean. But it had a toilet, and right now that was very important.

Afterwards, she looked around while she washed her hands. It was a very male bathroom... one aging hairbrush, a couple of unlabeled bottles, and that was about all. She didn't quite dare to touch his towel, and dried her hands hastily on her robes. Ducking out of the bathroom again, she gave him a small smile. "Thank you."

"Under the circumstances..." He trailed off, not quite looking at her stomach. "It is a long walk to the first floor facilities."

"It really is," Hermione said fervently. She'd frequently had to traverse that long walk with her knees clamped together. "I appreciate it."

He nodded. Hermione fiddled with her robe. It felt... odd, standing here in his bedroom, trying to think of something to say. It was a relief when she heard a mew, and Akilah uncurled herself from what was undoubtedly Snape's pillow and trotted to the edge of the bed to demand attention. "Hi, pretty lady," Hermione said, going over to scratch behind the huge ears. Akilah purred, and patted Hermione's bulge with a soft paw. Crooks tended to ignore the baby's increasingly obvious presence, but Akilah seemed fascinated by it. "I'm sorry, he's not going to knock back... he's asleep right now." Akilah nosed her stomach anyway, clearly hoping for a response, then allowed Hermione to scratch her ears again.

"How do you know that the child is sleeping?" She looked up to see Snape doing a startling impression of Crookshanks in the presence of fish - looking so disinterested that he was clearly fascinated.

"Well, I don't, really." She patted her stomach gently with the hand that Akilah wasn't occupying. "But he's not moving at all, and I sort of assume that that means he or she is asleep."

"I see." The moment passed, and then he looked away. "Your research - meticulous but unimaginative as it is - awaits us, Miss Granger."

* * *

_Rita, _

_I have a story that I promise will make you happier than you've been since the Triwizard Tournament. Please contact me as soon as possible. _

_Sincerely, etc._


	16. Chapter 16: Accusation

**Chapter 16: Accusation**

* * *

"Your hair looks nice like that," Harry said over breakfast, giving Hermione's head a critical look. "Sort of... fluffy."

"It does look nice," Ginny said, leaning back to see the bun from behind. "You should wear your hair up more often."

"I plan to," Hermione said, reaching for the jam. She'd worn it up for the first few lessons with Professor Snape, to boost her confidence a little, and it had been so nice to have it away from her face that she'd decided to make it a regular thing. And if Harry had actually noticed it, it must definitely be an improvement. "It gets in the way so much when it's loose."

"It does a bit, doesn't it?" Ginny pulled a strand of her long hair forward and looked at it critically, as the post owls swept into the great hall. "Maybe I should do something with mine."

"Yours looks a lot better down than mine di- what on earth?" Someone had actually _screamed_ at the Hufflepuff table, just a little. A girl Hermione didn't know - fourth or fifth year, from the look of her - was clutching the _Daily Prophet_ and whimpering.

The post owl had just dropped Hermione's regular copy in front of her, and she grabbed it, unrolling it hastily. A huge headline was splashed across the front page.

_**The Heir Of Voldemort? **_

_**Is the war really over?** _

_By Rita Skeeter _

_The wizarding world breathed a sigh of relief when He Who Must Not Be Named was finally struck down forever by the Boy Who Lived. Safe again at last... or so we thought! Frightening new information has come to light to indicate that while he may be gone for now, the Dark Lord has once again found a way to cheat death. At Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, one of Harry Potter's closest friends has come under suspicion. _

_"We all know something's up," said a student who asked not to be named, out of fear for her own safety. "Just the fact that she's still pregnant is a bad sign - Hermione Granger would never risk her N.E.W.T.s by having a baby at the same time if everything was normal." _

_Yes, Hermione Granger is pregnant - and according to confidential information received by this reporter, she conceived at the very time of the Final Battle. Her status as a war heroine has caused the Headmistress of Hogwarts to bend the usual rules about pregnancy at school and allow her to remain to finish her N.E.W.T.s. However, even the Headmistress has no idea who the father of the child really is - Miss Granger has steadfastly refused to name him, claiming that he 'didn't want to be involved'. _

_"We all assumed it was Ron Weasley at first... they were together at the time," said another student. "But there's no way it could have been him - he's accounted for right up until they ended things right after the war. And she's being really secretive about it... even her best friends don't know who it really was. She's acting like it's this huge secret, and she wouldn't do that unless she was really ashamed of it. I think maybe it was someone on the Other Side, if you know what I mean." _

_Someone on the Other Side does indeed seem the likeliest option, and we must all remember the safeguards upon safeguards You Know Who placed on his life. This reporter can only hope that someone, somewhere, sees fit to investigate this mysterious, oddly-timed pregnancy, before it's too late._

Hermione dropped the paper, her hands shaking. "That vicious, lying hag," she whispered, her voice oddly wobbly. She could hear the rising murmurs all around her, could _feel_ people staring at her and then looking hastily away. She looked up at the teachers' table, folding her hands in what was left of her lap to keep them from trembling. They were all reading the _Daily Prophet_, looking angry and shocked; Professor McGonagall looked down at her and shook her head, mouthing 'preposterous!'. Further along the table... oh, God, he'd seen it.

He looked up too, his eyes searching her out with an alarmed expression. He opened his mouth, and she shook her head fractionally. _No, don't say anything, no, don't believe it, no, don't get involved!_ He would get into terrible trouble if anyone found out now, if they learned he'd been teaching (and giving private lessons to!) a student he'd slept with. She would think of something, find a way out of this that wouldn't involve him.

"Oh, Merlin..." Ginny whispered, her hands clamped to her mouth in horror. "Oh, Hermione... how can she _say_ something like that..."

"Because she hates Hermione," Harry said savagely. "She's hated her ever since our fourth year, because Hermione _beat_ her. Made her do as she was told. Nobody's going to believe this, Hermione, you would never do something like this..."

"It was the Slytherins - it must have been!" Ron scowled across at the Slytherin table. "They were the ones talking to her last time. They know about her!"

"I need to get out of here," Hermione said, pulling herself to her feet. The murmurs around her got louder. "I can't... everyone's staring at me."

The others jumped to their feet, glaring around protectively. "Of course, Hermione, we'll come with..."

Ginny's voice faded into a buzz as Hermione took one step and fainted dead away.

* * *

"... it was just the shock," Poppy Pomfrey was saying crossly when Severus slipped into the infirmary. McGonagall had rushed to the hospital wing with her unconscious favourite, but the Heads of House had remained behind to calm their students and order them off to class. He would not swear to Slytherin being calm, as such, but they did realise their Head of House was exceptionally angry and would vent that anger on the first person to so much as squeak without permission. A furious glare and a snarl of 'get to class' had sent them scurrying off without a murmur.

He'd headed for the hospital wing at once. He did not, of course, trust Lupin to handle it if the girl had been cursed again, and clearly it was his duty to check. Hearing Poppy's assertion made something in his chest unclench, and he watched from the shadows of the doorway as Poppy fussed over her patient. The Headmistress was still there, and the rest of the Gryffindor Quartet had yet to be shooed away.

"This is the second time she's fainted," Ginny Weasley said, looking worried. "She did it when Mr Filch was poisoned, too. Not until after she'd given him the bezoar, but both times she did it as soon as she stood up."

"And I feel very silly," Hermione said weakly, opening her eyes and looking at the small crowd around her. "Like a stupid heroine in one of Lavender's romance novels, always swooning whenever something happens."

"Next time you get a sudden shock, don't stand up," Poppy said sternly. "Stay sitting and... well, you probably can't get your head between your knees anymore, but bend forward as much as you can."

"Yes, Poppy," she said meekly, as the nurse helped her sit up. "I just... had to get away." Her lip quivered, and Severus scowled. Whoever the Unnamed Students were, they were going to be made to suffer as horribly as any student could without incurring the wrath of the Board. Slytherins or not.

"Hermione, nobody's going to believe this," Weasley said, sitting on the edge of the bed beside her and slipping an arm around her shoulders. "I mean, the whole thing's just ridiculous."

Hermione sniffed. "Ron, lots of people are going to believe it because, as previously demonstrated by the fact that they believed all the stupid things Rita wrote about Harry, the majority of the readership of the _Daily Prophet_ are stupider than Flobberworms and would believe that the moon was constructed entirely of Brie cheese and Ice Mice if they saw it written down!"

She was absolutely right, and Severus smirked a little. Clever girl - comforting lies only weakened you and left you unprepared for the next attack.

"What's going to happen?" Potter asked McGonagall. "I mean, this is a bit more serious than accusing me of being a mad attention-seeker."

"The Board of Governors will almost certainly do something foolish and short-sighted. They generally do." McGonagall looked as if she'd just bitten into a lemon; an expression Snape remembered from his own school days that did not bode well for the next person to cross her. "Miss Granger, it would probably be best if you did not attend your classes today. If you would like your friends to stay with you - "

"No. Thank you," Hermione said firmly. "Believe me, I've seen them in a small room in a tense situation. It's like sitting in a tiger-cage right before feeding time, all pacing and snarling."

Severus chuckled very, very quietly. Potter and Weasley both looked deeply embarrassed, and Ginny Weasley was clearly trying not to giggle. "Hermione, we're not that bad," Potter said, but without any real conviction. "I mean, we wouldn't be if you didn't want us to be."

She sniffed, and gave him a wobbly smile. "It's all right. I'd rather you were out there telling people how stupid it is, really. If we're all holed up in my room, it's going to look as if we're hiding something."

"Yeah, good point," Potter said, surprising Severus with the admission - perhaps he had finally developed some rudimentary grasp of tactics. "We'll make sure everyone knows it's a filthy lie." He paused. "Of course, if you wanted to tell us who - "

"No," Hermione said flatly. "I have my reasons, Harry."

"I'm just saying, now would be a good time." Potter shrugged. "People are going to find out eventually, Hermione. You can't keep something like this a secret forever."

"Watch me." She sniffed disapprovingly and slid off the bed. "Right. While you're defending my honour, I'm going to spend the day recovering from the Dreadful Shock in my room." She managed a reasonable approximation of a grin and directed it at Poppy. "I ought to, don't you think? Given my delicate condition and all."

"Oh, quite," Poppy agreed, smirking a little. "Have Dilly bring you anything you need, and spend the day resting... and studying, I suppose, but you're to lie down for at least part of the day."

"I will." Hermione nodded, and Severus slipped away. He had no class to teach for the first period of the day, and now he knew she would shortly be alone and available for a private consultation.

He consulted with a couple of portraits - Eugenie and an elderly knight from the corridor that led towards the Slytherin common room - and was not particularly surprised to discover that the Slytherins had been smirking and giggling even before the paper had arrived. Pansy was, if not the culprit, certainly involved somehow; Eugenie had heard her mention 'Rita' at least once.

When he judged that sufficient time had passed, he headed for the third-floor room Hermione had been given, armed with the latest written-work requirement for his N.E.W.T. class just in case someone saw him there, and he needed an excuse. He rapped on the door, and when it popped open, he looked down at Dilly. He knew the house-elf by sight - she regularly assisted Madam Pomfrey with patients who needed constant supervision. "I wish to speak to Miss Granger," he said, holding up his roll of parchment. "Since she is to spend the day in quiet study, I have brought her something to work on."

"Come in, Professor Snape," Dilly said brightly, stepping back and waving him through. "Can Dilly bring anything for Professor Snape? Tea?"

"No."

Hermione had, for a wonder, obeyed Poppy Pomfrey's orders and was lying down, propped up with several pillows and holding a book. Her eyes were red, he noticed, and she looked miserable. Her cat was curled up beside her - the creature opened an eye, examined Snape for a moment, and then went back to sleep.

"I wish to speak to Miss Granger, Dilly. Go."

Dilly promptly vanished, and Hermione frowned at him. "You shouldn't be so rude to her," she said reproachfully. "Just because she's a house-elf - "

"Is no reason for me to accord her greater politeness than I do anyone else," he said, dropping the roll of parchment on her bedside table. "I am rude to everyone."

She actually giggled a little at that. "Yes, well, that is a good point," she said, hitching herself up a little and looking up at him. "Thank you for bringing that... I don't have any homework that needs doing, just now, and I need to do _something_ to... well. Take my mind off things."

He nodded. "I suspected as much." This was far more awkward than he had expected. She was so clearly distressed and yet trying to pretend that all was well. "Miss Granger, under the circumstances... as reluctant as I am to admit it... Potter may actually be right. It may be necessary for you to acknowledge your child's paternity." He watched her face closely, and to his surprise that suggestion didn't draw forth even a hint of horror or reluctance. "I will not hold you to your promise of secrecy. If the alternative is to have the child born under such suspicions..."

Her lip trembled, but she didn't cry, for which he was grateful. He was accustomed to weeping students, but Hermione was something else entirely, and he had no idea what he would do if she started to cry. "Thank you," she said softly, her hand dropping to cup her stomach gently. "That is - given how public opinion and most of the Order would react, no matter what I said in your defence - beyond generous. But I wouldn't do that to you." She managed a lopsided little smile. "I'm not nimble enough to throw myself between you and Harry at the moment, and he'd have a fit. Several fits, probably."

"Even so," Severus said, his eyes drawn to her hand. It was a peculiarly affectionate gesture. "I would not condemn any child to live under such suspicion."

"He won't," Hermione said firmly. "Or she. I don't know yet." She looked down at her bulge with a tender expression. "I meant what I said when I told you," she said quietly, not looking at him. "If you want to be a part of his life, then you have every right to, and you're welcome to. But I won't make things harder for you just because I... did what I did. I'll manage."

"Very well." He hadn't really believed her when she'd said it the first time. He knew her better now. She really would let him be 'part of his life', if he chose. The thought was almost pleasant, and he pushed it away firmly. Draco would care for them both, if she let him, and Draco could be charming when he chose. "Still. If it becomes necessary to name the child's father, either privately or publicly, you may do so."

"Thank you." She stroked a spot on the side of her stomach, smiling a little. Glancing up, she saw him watching her hand and smiled a little. "He's kicking. I'm usually moving around a lot more at this time of day... I think he's wondering why everything's so quiet."

Severus found himself drawing closer to the bed, watching her hand. "He is aware of your movements?"

"Oh, yes. I'm just over twenty-nine weeks now. If he was born now, he'd have a good chance of surviving." Hermione beamed proudly. "He can control his own breathing and has some basic temperature control. He's been able to hear my voice for a while... now he can see, taste, and even smell, although there's probably not a lot to smell in there. He spends a lot of time sleeping, and he can even dream. And he kicks." She winced, grinning ruefully. "He kicks a lot and increasingly hard."

"I... see." He'd had no idea babies were so _active_ before birth. And how did anyone know that they could smell things?

She bit her lip. "Uhm... feel free to say no, but... would you like to feel him kick?" she offered tentatively.

She didn't know he'd already felt it. He remembered that strange, faint bumping sensation with almost painful clarity. _Their_ child, alive and moving... "I suppose so," he said ungraciously, trying not to reach too eagerly towards her.

She took his hand - hers were small and soft and warm - and pressed it gently against the side of her bulge. "Here. He's been moving around here... there, do you feel it?"

He felt it. Stronger than the last time, bumping authoritatively against his palm as her soft fingers pressed against the back of his hand. "I feel it. An odd sensation." He drew his hand back, his face settling automatically into an impassive mask. He felt... he didn't know what he felt. He had no name for the intense, painful emotion that tightened his throat and knotted his stomach, and he liked it not at all. It would have to be dealt with. "I must go and prepare for my next class. There's no hurry for the work I gave you... given accusations of consorting with He Who Must Not Be Named, I think even I can forgive you a little lateness in your homework."

She responded, and he said what was suitable, and in a surprisingly short period of time he was in his office, watching his hands shake. Akilah came and rubbed against them, nosing his fingers gently, and he buried them in her fur until the trembling stopped.

* * *

Hermione spent most of the day curled up with Crookshanks, who purred lovingly and ignored the inexplicable bumping that made lying across her stomach less comfortable than usual, these days. "You like him, don't you?" Hermione murmured, stroking the fluffy orange fur. "Professor Snape, I mean. You don't usually let strange men into my bedroom without challenging them, let alone let them touch me."

Crooks purred, nuzzling his face into her armpit, and she smiled a little. "I like him too," she whispered sadly. "And we have to take extra-specially good care of the baby, because it's his too, all right?"

"Why is Miss not wanting to tell people so?"

Hermione shrieked, sitting bolt upright as Crookshanks hissed and scrambled for safety. She had long suspected that house-elves didn't always make noise when they appeared, and now she was sure. "Dilly! I'm not... I don't..."

"All the house-elves is already knowing, of course," Dilly said placidly. "We is hearing everything that goes on in the castle, sooner or later. We is wondering why Professor Snape and Miss don't settle down."

Hermione stared at her, her mouth opening and closing soundlessly. "Ahh..." she managed after a long moment.

"We is not telling anyone, not even the Headmistress. We is respecting Professor Snape's secrets," Dilly said seriously. "But we is not knowing why it is so secret."

"Because he would get into terrible trouble if anyone knew," Hermione said seriously. "I'm sure you all know how Harry feels about Professor Snape, and some of the other members of the Order are even worse. They might hurt him if they knew that we'd... uh..." She blushed.

Dilly nodded slowly. "Miss should not let her friends behave that way," she said, giving Hermione a reproving look. "But house-elves will make no trouble for Professor Snape. He is had suffering enough. _We_ know."

"Yes, I suppose you would," Hermione said quietly. "Please don't let him know that you know... or anyone else. It's best for everyone if nobody ever finds out, it really is."

"What about the baby? He will be wanting to know his father," Dilly said, gazing at Hermione's stomach with the same doting expression Dobby gave Harry.

"I'll deal with that when it happens. For now... please don't say anything. To _anyone_, even the Headmistress. Please?"

"We will say nothing. But Miss should consider," Dilly said seriously. Then there was a knock on the door, and she ran to answer it. "Welcome, Headmistress!"

"Thank you, Dilly." Professor McGonagall looked tired and upset, pulling off her hat and rubbing her forehead wearily. "Miss Granger, I'm afraid my prediction was accurate... the Board of Governors has convened and have informed me that they will be here tomorrow or the next day to 'investigate the alarming allegations', as they put it. They will want to question you."

"Oh." Hermione bit her lip. "Uhm... Dilly, some tea, please?"

"Of course, Miss." Dilly vanished.

Hermione hauled herself off the bed and onto her feet, tugging her robes straight. "Well. I'm not going to tell them who the baby's father is, but other than that, I don't have anything to hide. It certainly wasn't Voldemort."

"Of course not." Professor McGonagall gave her a smile that was probably meant to be encouraging. "But they may employ Veritaserum, and that will not, I'm afraid, give you much choice about what you say."

Hermione opened her mouth to protest and then closed it again. They _could_ do that, she had nobody to tell on them to if they did, and they certainly wouldn't care that it wasn't fair. She scowled. "I am _not_ letting them push me around," she said, clasping her hands across her stomach. "We need a plan."


	17. Chapter 17: Truth

**Chapter 17: Truth **

* * *

The whispering was everywhere she went. The accusation was wild, stupid, and poorly-written. That didn't stop most of the school from... well, not believing it, exactly, but fearing that it was true. The pretence everyone had clung to, that the war was gone, over, barely worth remembering had suddenly been shaken, and Hermione spent the day after the story's first appearance listening to whispers and seeing people flinch away from her.

Rita had not, for a wonder, done a follow-up article. But the _Prophet_ had printed several pages of angry, frightened letters insisting that Hermione be expelled, questioned under Veritaserum, arrested, all three or worse. The Ministry had issued a statement to the effect that they had not yet been given any reason to believe Voldemort had succeeded in his attempts to escape death this time; but the statement was such a cautious exercise in covering their own backsides just in case that it read more like a confirmation than a denial.

Harry was furious. "I'm going to _have_ Scrimgeour for this," he muttered, falling into step beside Hermione as they headed for Herbology. "Ex-Auror or not, he can't be any bloody tougher than Voldemort. One of these days I'll catch him away from the cameras and just..." He made a violent neck-wringing motion, nearly dropping his bag.

"I'd argue with you, but right now I feel the same way," Hermione said, wincing as her hip twinged. Walking fast was getting harder and harder. "Can I help?"

"Sure. I'll hold him down and you can hex him." Harry absently reached over to take her bag. "Here, give me that... anyway, I can't believe anyone actually _believes_ this bilge."

"I don't think most of them do believe it, really," Hermione said, trying to be fair. "They're just so frightened by the idea that they can't _disbelieve_ it. They've been pretending so hard that the war just... didn't really happen, and that it's all over anyway, and now suddenly it's all been dragged up again just when they were starting to feel safe."

"You're more understanding than I am," Harry muttered, giving a pair of third-years a filthy look as they goggled nervously at Hermione and scuttled past. "Honestly, there are times when I wonder why I bothered saving the wizarding world at all."

"You don't mean that." Hermione poked him gently. "You know you don't."

"Well, no, I don't." Harry smiled down at her. "I mean, even if everyone else annoys me, there's you and Ginny and Ron and all. And the baby. I'm glad he's going to have a more or less safe world to get born into."

"Me too." Hermione returned his smile. "I don't know if I would have dared go through with it, if the war had still been going on."

"I wouldn't blame you." Harry nodded, and then waved. "Hey, Ron!"

Ron caught up to them just as they stepped into the greenhouse. "Sorry I'm late," he said, looking rather pleased with himself. "Had to sort out a sixth-year who was saying nasty things about Hermione."

Harry bristled. "Like what?"

"Same as when everyone found out she was pregnant, but worse. You know, implying she was... that she had loose morals." Ron blushed a bit. "Anyway, she doesn't, and I should know, right?"

"You should." Hermione grinned. Harry looked at them both and went very pink. "I certainly didn't make it easy for you, and I _liked_ you."

Ron managed to blush and smirk at the same time. "Yeah, well... if it hadn't been for the we-could-die-at-any-moment, I doubt even I would've got anywhere with you," he said, clearly considering it a compliment.

Hermione giggled and pulled out her dragon hide gloves, feeling better already. "All right. You two wrestle the Tentacula and toss me the pollinated swabs. I'd help, but..." She batted her lashes insincerely, gesturing to her stomach.

"Wouldn't let you help anyway," Harry said cheerfully, pulling on his own gloves. "You're too small. It might think you were a bunny and eat you."

* * *

"Miss Parkinson. Come in."

Severus liked Pansy. He'd had hopes for her. But now he enjoyed watching her pale and shift nervously. She recognized the silky purr that signified true fury in her Head of House, although it had never been directed at her before. "You wanted to see me, Professor?" she asked, coming to stand in front of his desk with all the enthusiasm of a prisoner approaching the gallows.

"Yes, Miss Parkinson, I did." He glared at her for a long, silent moment, and she went even paler. "I have a question for you."

"What is it, sir?" Bravado was leaking out of her like water out of a sieve.

He leaned forward, scowling. "Can you give me one even half-decent reason why you should not be immediately expelled?"

Pansy flinched. "I... what?" she stammered, wringing her hands nervously. "I haven't..."

"You deny being the one to contact Rita Skeeter and suggest to her the revolting and completely impossible story she then printed regarding Hermione Granger?"

"Yes! I mean..." She gave him a puzzled look. "Sir, why do you care what - "

Severus glared at her with an intensity that made her mouth snap shut so fast she probably bit her tongue. "Miss Parkinson, I am well aware that you and Draco were involved in the rumour-mongering Miss Skeeter perpetrated against Harry Potter in your fourth year. I chose not to interfere at that time because I did not particularly care if the Boy Who Lived To Irritate Me was inconvenienced or not. Choosing not to intervene then did not indicate that I would not know who to blame if it happened again."

"But you care if we upset Granger?" Pansy asked, giving him a look which was entirely too thoughtful. "Why, sir?"

"I care that you are raising fears of the Dark Lord and his remaining works that are most easily vented upon the nearest former Death Eater, Miss Parkinson," he snapped, glaring at her. "Who, as I am sure you are aware, currently sits before you. If this rebounds on me, I assure you that not only will I expel you, I will make your life _miserable_, do you understand me?"

Pansy blanched. "But it really wasn't me, sir!" she said frantically. "I thought of it... We discussed it..."

"We?"

"Me, Millicent, Theodore, Vincent... most of the seventh-years except Draco." Pansy was loyal to her cohorts, to an extent, but not so much so that she was going to trifle with an angry Severus Snape. "I thought it would take her down a peg or two if Rita wrote about her being pregnant and, you know, said that she was a bit of a tramp and all that..." His eyes narrowed, and she babbled faster. "But I hadn't contacted her yet, I swear I hadn't, and I didn't suggest anything like what she actually printed!"

"Indeed. Miss Parkinson, I would strongly suggest that you not lie to me."

"All right, I did suggest something like that!" Pansy was sweating now. "That, you know, maybe the father was on our side and that was why she was ashamed of it, but not... Him. I never would have suggested that - it's too bloody nasty a thought even for me!"

"Really." He believed her. She wasn't especially subtle, although she could be devious, and she'd never been a convincing liar. "Then I suggest you find out who did contact Miss Skeeter, because unless you can produce an alternative scapegoat, I will personally hand you to the Headmistress on a silver platter... and I imagine you know how well she's taken this attack on her precious favourite."

Pansy was as white as a sheet now, and she gulped audibly. "Yes sir," she whispered. "I will."

"Good." He had made his point, and judged it wise to make a show of softening slightly before she fainted from sheer terror. "I am certain that whoever did this did not consider the potential danger to me," he said, the menacing purr gone from his voice now. "An attack on the Gryffindor Trio has always been a... valid means of expressing one's displeasure. However, further attacks on Miss Granger will not be tolerated, and I suggest you make that plain to the others."

She gave him a startled look, and he arranged his face into a sour expression. "It isn't common knowledge, since it was hardly in keeping with his heroic and noble image, but when I contacted the Order after Dumbledore's death, Mr Potter made a quite determined attempt to kill me. I only survived because Miss Granger - showing a lamentably Gryffindor lack of common sense - flung herself between me and her friend and shielded me until he could be disarmed. I was unarmed, she saved my life, and I am now unfortunately under life debt to the girl. Until it can be discharged, therefore, you are all to ignore her if you cannot be civil. Do you understand me?"

"Yes, sir," Pansy said meekly. That explanation should keep the Slytherins from directly attacking Hermione, at least... a life debt was a serious thing, especially when acknowledged openly. Attacking her would _require_ him to protect her, even against his own House. "I'm sorry, sir. None of us thought that it might get you into trouble."

"It might yet." Especially if the secret of the child's paternity was discovered. "Go. Find out who did this, report it to me instead of the Headmistress, and it is _possible_ that person will not be expelled." She nodded and turned to leave. "And Miss Parkinson... thirty points from Slytherin. For even suggesting such a thing."

She flinched. "Yes, sir," she mumbled and fled.

Severus scowled, heading for his quarters. The Board should arrive at any moment. Professor McGonagall had (rather to his surprise) included him in the plan she and Hermione had concocted, and it was time that he collected the necessary and assumed his place.

* * *

"I am still _entirely_ opposed to this outrageous invasion of a student's privacy." Professor McGonagall's voice was clearly audible as the staircase ascended to the Headmistress's office. "And not just any student, but a heroine of the war and a recipient of the Order of Merlin, first class!"

The Board of Governors had taken longer than Professor McGonagall had expected to show up. (She had predicted two days - it had taken eight.) They had eventually arrived in a body, demanding to interrogate Hermione Granger privately before determining whether to have her appear before the Wizengamot to refute the charges made against her.

When Hermione opened the door on a mumble about _'allegations have to be investigated'_, the twelve Governors all stared at her as if she was a Blast-Ended Skrewt... dangerous, hideous and quite outside their experience. The two Aurors they'd insisted on bringing along, both of whom she knew slightly, had the grace to look embarrassed about the whole thing.

Professor McGonagall had pointedly failed to provide chairs for the members of the Board. She herself was seated in state behind her desk, with Professor Dumbledore's portrait right behind her and a forbidding scowl plastered across her face. To her left four chairs had been arranged in a row, and all four Heads of House were seated there, each expressing disdain in his or her own fashion. Professor Flitwick was frowning and looking deeply disappointed. Professor Sprout clearly hadn't bothered to clean up before arriving and was subjecting two nervous-looking Governors (presumably former Hufflepuffs) to a stare that would make a Venomous Tentacula back down. Professor Sinistra contrived to look down her nose at all of them despite being seated, occasionally yawning behind a graceful hand. Professor Snape, naturally, was scowling... and stroking the half-grown Kneazle in his lap, who was also staring fixedly at the assembled Board.

Hermione almost smiled at that typically Slytherin manoeuvre - Akilah's presence would make any attempt to cast aspersions on the nearest Death Eater extremely difficult - but she kept her face straight and her eyes lowered as Madam Pomfrey guided her to the single chair placed to the left of Professor McGonagall's desk.

Madam Pomfrey was playing up admirably, uttering little clucks and murmurs of concern as she settled Hermione into the chair and turned to glare at the Board. "I will be remaining to ensure that Miss Granger is not unnecessarily distressed," she said, folding her arms and glaring. "She is my patient, and I will not have her upset by this dreadful business any more than is absolutely necessary. She is far too fragile, and the baby might be put at risk."

"Quite right," Professor Sprout said, giving Hermione a probably genuinely concerned look. Hermione had been too nervous to eat all day and hadn't slept well since the article was published, which had left her looking decidedly peaky if her bathroom mirror was being honest. "Mustn't put any extra strain on the child."

Hermione mustered a small smile, hoping she looked like she was trying to be brave. "Thank you, Professor," she said quietly. "I'll be all right."

"Of course she will." Cornelius Fudge had managed to wangle his way onto the Board and clearly felt that he should be in charge of the interrogation - he had planted himself at the front of the group and was glaring pugnaciously at Professor McGonagall. None of the other members of the Board seemed at all keen to attract her attention, so he'd probably get away with it. "Frankly, I consider this show of supposed weakness very unconvincing. Constanzia, kindly dispel any glamours that may be on the girl."

A thin, sour-looking witch muttered a spell, poking her wand at Hermione. "Nothing," she said after a moment, looking deeply disappointed. "Not even a cosmetic charm."

"Tcha!" Madam Pomfrey made a disapproving noise. "She's eighteen years old, decidedly undersized, in her third trimester, and so upset by this... this _travesty_ that she's barely eating. If I'd had my way, she'd be in the hospital wing right now getting some nice bed-rest, but since she insists on going to all her classes..."

"Miss Granger has excellent N.E.W.T. prospects if she can keep up with her school-work," Professor Sinistra said in a bored, sleepy voice. "Naturally allowances have been made for her condition..."

"What sort of allowances?" Fudge demanded at once. "Marking up her work, I suppose, letting her off her homework..."

"Not at all." Professor Sinistra waved a dismissive hand. "Aside from tasks she is physically incapable of completing, she is still working to well above the standard of her classmates. The allowances I mention involve her current inability to move quickly between classes, climb the stairs to Gryffindor Tower, and so on. And she has been let off the practical portion of her Potions classes until after she gives birth."

"At which time she has agreed to devote her weekends and evenings to making up the work she has missed," Professor Snape said, giving Fudge a frosty look. "I trust that you do not think I will allow her to fall below the high standard I expect from all my N.E.W.T. students, mother or not."

"Of course not." A small, insignificant-looking wizard with cold eyes answered before Fudge could, inclining his head politely to Professor Snape, who returned the salutation with the barest nod. "The Department of Mysteries has been greatly pleased with the ability of the students you have taught - Horace Slughorn himself has not produced better."

"Naturally." Professor Snape smirked ever so slightly, giving Fudge a smug look. He still hadn't looked at Hermione, which was just as well - she wasn't sure she'd be able to keep her face under control if he did.

"Yes, well..." Fudge frowned. "That is hardly the point... although I will be cautioning the examiners that they are not to make _any_ allowances for Miss Granger when her N.E.W.T. testing commences." He gave Hermione a filthy look. "You'll earn your final marks just like everyone else."

"I wouldn't have it any other way," Hermione said truthfully. "I have absolutely no intention of using my condition to gain special privileges - "

"I understand you have been given private sleeping-quarters," murmured a tall woman who bore a decided resemblance to the Patil twins. "I would certainly have considered that a special privilege when I was at school."

"That is for the sake of Miss Granger's former room-mates as much as for her own," Professor McGonagall said sharply. "I would certainly not expect them to share a room with a newborn in the months directly preceding their N.E.W.T.s and felt it best to move Miss Granger to another room once her pregnancy became physically awkward for those around her as well as herself. They are both, as I understand it, perfectly happy that she is no longer inconvenienced by the stairs in Gryffindor Tower and that they are no longer inconvenienced by her."

Professor Sprout snickered at the puzzled looks on most of the Governors' faces. "They got tired of her spending so much time in the loo," she said, smirking. "Certain things take longer and have to happen a lot more often in the third trimester, if you know what I mean."

"Ah... yes, of course," said the tall witch, with an expression of deep distaste. "I do recall."

"Yes, well..." Fudge was slightly pink. "I am disappointed, Professor, that you have allowed this... situation at all. Given her condition and unmarried state, Miss Granger is certainly not setting a good example to the younger students."

Professor McGonagall's eyes narrowed. "I consider Miss Granger to be setting a fine example for the younger students," she said sharply. "She is not only intelligent, brave and a keen scholar, she is willing to accept the consequences of her actions and make the best of them without asking for or expecting help or special treatment. I wish all our students were so responsible." Fudge opened his mouth, and she glared at him. "And before you so much as mention the word 'moral', Cornelius Fudge, I suggest you recollect that we were at school together, and you were notorious for your lack of discretion and forward planning even then."

Fudge went purple and shifted awkwardly. "That is not the issue at hand," he mumbled, trying to look dignified as six members of the Hogwarts staff smirked at him. "We came here to question Miss Granger about the serious allegations made against her by Miss Skeeter in the _Daily Prophet_."

Hermione looked up from the hands demurely folded over her stomach. "The allegations are as ridiculous and implausible as most of Miss Skeeter's writing," she said firmly. "I can't believe that twelve theoretically rational adults would take them this seriously."

Fudge scowled. "Miss Skeeter is a respected member of the Press, Miss Granger, and I would not advise you to be cheeky. You may not be facing the Wizengamot just yet, but you are still in a great deal of trouble."

Professor McGonagall snorted. "Mr Fudge, an unsubstantiated rumour propagated by a notoriously sensationalist journalist whose grasp of fact is so weak that she failed all but two of her O.W.L.s hardly constitutes a lot of trouble. It barely constitutes an inconvenience."

"Miss Skeeter's difficulties at school are not an issue here!" Fudge said, puffing up angrily. "The allegations she has made are extremely serious!"

"They are extremely ridiculous," Professor McGonagall snapped back. "As if Miss Granger, one of the closest friends of Harry Potter, would have anything at all to do with Voldemort - " several members of the board flinched at the name, " - let alone allowing him to procreate!"

"Has Miss Granger confided the name of the child's father to you, Headmistress?" The speaker was a witch who must have been pretty before her face set itself into a permanent sneer.

"She has not," Professor McGonagall said, drawing herself up stiffly and glaring at the sneering woman. "I have respected her privacy in the matter."

"Then you are really in no position to insist who it may or may not have been." The sneering woman gave Hermione a disdainful look. "Still, this matter should not take long to resolve. Minister Scrimgeour has authorized the use of Veritaserum in this case, to be administered by the Aurors."

Several people spoke at once.

"Outrageous!" Professor Flitwick squeaked. "Absolutely appalling!"

"Miss Granger is not a criminal," Professor Sinistra said, looking fully awake for the first time. "This is against all precedent - "

"You cannot possibly be serious," Professor McGonagall said disdainfully.

And over the top of them all, Poppy Pomfrey said, "No."

"Minister Scrimgeour - "

"Minister Scrimgeour does not have the authority to endanger my patient!" Madam Pomfrey said sternly. "I will call in the Healer from Hogsmeade if I must, but Miss Granger will not be drinking Veritaserum."

Fudge puffed up again, glaring at her. "You do not have the authority to - "

"Actually, Mr Fudge, I do. As the Hogwarts Matron - and I was a qualified Healer in my day, long ago as that was - I have primary responsibility for Miss Granger's well-being. I have every right to prevent you or the Minister himself from endangering her health or that of the baby."

"With Veritaserum?" The sour-looking witch... Constanzia... made a rude noise. "Veritaserum is perfectly safe, Madam, as well you know. This is a blatant ploy to allow the girl to avoid questioning - "

"Veritaserum is harmless to most people, yes." Professor Snape spoke, his scornful tone commanding silence as easily as it did in the classroom. "However, it contains an infusion of pennyroyal." There was a moment's pause, and he sighed in obvious impatience. Nobody, not even Poppy had known about the pennyroyal until he mentioned it, but he managed to convey his utter disdain for anyone so idiotic as to have missed something so obvious. "Pennyroyal is the primary ingredient in most potions used to dispose of unwanted pregnancies. It is a highly effective natural abortifacient."

"You cannot give it to Miss Granger," Madam Pomfrey said sternly. "It would seriously endanger the life of her child. I will not permit it, and your Aurors would not administer it even if you tried to insist."

"Of course not, Madam Pomfrey," the younger one said meekly. He looked about thirty, quite young enough to still clearly remember the school matron. Fudge glared at him, and he shrugged. "She is quite right, Mr Fudge. We can't do anything that might endanger the baby. Don't think it's ever come up with Veritaserum before, but Professor Snape would be the one to know about Potions or anything like that." He gave the Potions teacher a nervous look.

"I assure you, Stebbins, I have checked with St Mungo's as well as Professor Snape, and they will confirm that Veritaserum is considered unsafe during pregnancy, although this is the first time the question has actually arisen." Madam Pomfrey smiled indulgently at the young man, who blushed and tried to surreptitiously straighten his collar and tidy his hair.

"No matter." Constanzia shrugged. "A Verity Charm will not be as comprehensively effective, but it should do for our purposes. I assume that that meets with your approval, matron?"

Madam Pomfrey sniffed. "It will do. But if Miss Granger shows any signs of becoming overtired or distressed I will end this interrogation at once."

"A Verity Charm will have to do, then," Fudge said ungraciously. "Constanzia, if you would - "

"Certainly not." Professor McGonagall rose from behind her desk, looking down her sharp nose at the rather shorter Fudge. "I will not have a person I barely know casting Truth Spells on one of my students. If you insist upon this foolish rigmarole, Mr Fudge, then I will cast the charm, and I will ask your questions if and only if they are appropriate and relevant, is that understood?"

Fudge went purple. "Minerva, you go too far! You have no authority to - "

"She does, actually." It was the older Auror... Hermione was fairly sure his name was Savage. He'd worked with Tonks a few times. "Since the repeal of the Educational Decrees, Professor McGonagall, as Headmistress, has final authority on all tests, punishments, reprimands, inquiries and assorted disciplinary measures regarding any current student of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry unless directly overruled by a parent, in the case of a minor, or the student him-or-her-self if he or she is of age. Unless, of course, there is reason to suspect that the Headmaster or Headmistress is deliberately blocking inquiry into a criminal matter, in which case a submission would have to be made in writing to - "

"Yes, yes, Savage, you've made your point." Fudge looked positively apoplectic, and as he looked away, Savage gave Hermione a tiny wink. "Very well, Minerva, you may cast the charm, but you are to relay all our questions!"

"Unless they are inappropriate or immaterial to the matter at hand," Professor McGonagall said coolly. "In which case I will insist that you rephrase them... or do so for you." She moved to stand in front of Hermione, drawing her wand out of her sleeve. "_Oro Veritas_," she said, touching the tip of the wand to her lips and then Hermione's. "What is your name?"

"Hermione Jane Granger," Hermione said immediately. It was an odd feeling - she had to answer, but the mind-dulling fog of Veritaserum wasn't there. She was fairly sure she could even phrase her answers to avoid things she didn't want to answer, as long as she answered the actual question and was strictly truthful.

"Very good." Professor McGonagall nodded. "If she were not being compelled to answer absolutely truthfully, she would have answered 'Hermione Granger', leaving out the information she considered irrelevant." Fudge looked over at Savage, who flicked his wand and then nodded, presumably agreeing that the spell was in force. Professor McGonagall gave Fudge a disdainful look. "If you are ready, Cornelius, you may begin your questioning."

Fudge glared at Hermione. "Who is the father of your baby?"

Professor McGonagall shook her head. "Inappropriate, Cornelius. The baby's father wishes to remain anonymous. If he is not the person you foolishly suspect, then publicly exposing him is both unnecessary and unethical. Rephrase, please."

Fudge glared at her. "Very _well_... Miss Granger, is Voldemort the father of your baby?"

Professor McGonagall nodded and repeated the question. Hermione frowned. "No, of course not! The very idea is absurd."

"Did he have anything to do with your pregnancy?"

"Not directly," Hermione said, and blinked. He hadn't had anything to do with it at all!

"Aha!" Fudge looked positively delighted. "How did he cause it to come about, then?"

Professor McGonagall relayed the question, her eyebrows rising sharply. "He started the war," Hermione said, and sighed quietly with relief. Apparently 'anything' really did mean _anything_ to this spell. "That indirectly led to the baby's conception." She hastily bit that answer off before it could get any more detailed.

Fudge sagged, looking deeply disappointed. "Was Voldemort in any way directly involved in the... initiation of your pregnancy?"

"No."

"To your knowledge, did he instigate another person to induce your condition?"

"No."

The sneering witch moved forward, and Fudge nodded to her. "Miss Granger," she said coolly. "Did the child's father in any way coerce you to have... relations with him? Ply you with alcohol, offer you a potion, cast a charm or anything of that nature?"

"Certainly not. If he had, I would not have hesitated to report him immediately," Hermione said firmly, when the question had been relayed. "There were dozens of Aurors and Law Enforcement Wizards about."

"Yes. Quite. You were an entirely willing participant, then?" The sneer developed an overlay of smirk, which was worrying.

"Yes," Hermione said reluctantly. This was veering towards questions she didn't want to answer, especially with him standing right there.

The smirk widened slightly. "With how many partners did you... engage... during and immediately after the war? Entirely willingly?"

There was a shocked mutter from the Heads of House, and Professor McGonagall drew herself up in anger. "_Decidedly_ inappropriate! Miss Granger is under no obligation to satisfy your prurient curiosity!"

"Merely attempting to clarify, Headmistress. I will rephrase. Miss Granger, are you certain, without any doubt, as to the child's paternity? There is no possibility that there may be another candidate for the position?"

"None whatsoever. He was the only one in that time-frame." Hermione clamped her mouth shut, blushing. "Although I don't see why that's at all relevant."

"We do need to be sure. Was the child's father known to you personally?" The sneering witch held up a graceful hand to halt Professor McGonagall's protests. "I merely wish to be certain, Professor McGonagall, that the man in question could not have been a servant of Voldemort who misled Miss Granger by posing as an innocent stranger."

Professor McGonagall gave her a poisonous look. "Oh, very well... Miss Granger, was the baby's father personally known to you before you were... er... intimate?"

"Yes, we had known each other for approximately six years at that time," Hermione said immediately and blushed. Damn. That narrowed it down far too much.

"I see." The sneering witch frowned. "And you are certain that Polyjuice was not involved in any respect? That someone posing as someone you know did not approach you?"

Professor McGonagall made an impatient noise. "Attempting to wring a coherent question out of that... Miss Granger, is it possible that you were approached by someone who was not who he appeared to be and that your child was therefore fathered by a person unknown to you?"

"Absolutely not." Hermione squelched a triumphant grin with some difficulty. Professor McGonagall knew perfectly well that the baby's father hadn't approached her at all - she'd approached him.

"Really, Fudge, this is ridiculous," Professor Sprout said a bit testily. "And a damned waste of everyone's time. She's told you half a dozen times that You-Know-Who wasn't involved, and it's nobody's business but hers who the father is otherwise."

But Fudge's eyes had narrowed thoughtfully. "It wasn't You-Know-Who himself, but... Miss Granger, was it one of his Death Eaters? Not acting on You-Know-Who's behalf, but on his own?"

Hermione took a deep breath, her heart seeming to skip a beat as she waited for Professor McGonagall to repeat the question. She looked up at the Headmistress, and their eyes met. _Oh please don't ask me that oh please oh please..._

Professor McGonagall gave her an odd, unreadable look, and then sniffed disapprovingly. "Oh, for heaven's sake... in the interests of speeding this along, Miss Granger, was there any possibility that the father of your baby was loyal to Voldemort, as a Death Eater or mere minion, or that he was in any way under the influence of persons loyal to Voldemort in either of the aforementioned capacities?"

"None whatsoever," Hermione said firmly, dimly aware that her hands were trembling and sure that she must be as white as a sheet. Oh, if Professor McGonagall hadn't phrased it exactly the way she had... did she know? How could she know? "There could be no possible doubt that he was on our side."

Fudge frowned. "Damn it, girl, there must be some reason behind this story! Why would Rita Skeeter print such a story, or your classmates spread it, without some grounds for suspicion?"

"Fudge, Miss Granger can hardly be expected to know why that woman would - "

"Nevertheless, Professor McGonagall, please repeat the question. Miss Granger, without naming the child's father, what reason could Miss Skeeter have for printing that article?"

"Because I've been blackmailing her since fourth year," Hermione said involuntarily. "Oh, bugger." She considered fainting.

There was a long silence. "You've been _what_?" Professor McGonagall asked, as everyone in the room stared at Hermione in shock.

"Blackmailing her," Hermione mumbled, blushing scarlet.

"With what?" Savage asked, moving forward. "Relay the question, please, Professor McGonagall."

She did so, and Hermione squirmed a bit. "I found out she was an unregistered Animagus," she said, looking down at her knees. "That's how she was finding out all those horrible things about Harry she was printing in our fourth year. She was sneaking onto the grounds as a beetle."

There was another long, long moment of silence. "Are you aware, Miss Granger, that failing to register as an Animagus is an extremely serious offence?" Savage asked, by way of Professor McGonagall.

"Yes. Professor McGonagall told us that it was, and there's a cautionary note in our Advanced Transfiguration textbook. It doesn't specify what precisely happens to you if you don't register, but it said that it was serious. I assumed that meant Azkaban."

"It does mean Azkaban. Probably a long stint, if this has been going on for a matter of years." Savage frowned. "Why did you blackmail her? Why not just report her?"

"Because I didn't trust the Ministry to adequately punish someone it found so useful in discrediting Harry, when he started saying Voldemort was back," Hermione said promptly. "I wanted her to stop writing horrible things about Harry and his friends... including me... and I wasn't absolutely sure she'd go to Azkaban, so I threatened to turn her in if she didn't stop writing stories altogether for a full year."

"But she printed an interview with Harry himself in your fifth year."

"I forced her to," Hermione said, twiddling her fingers nervously. "I couldn't trust anyone else, but I knew Rita would write the truth because she was afraid of Azkaban. If Harry tried to tell his story through anyone else, it could have wound up distorted or worse."

"I always wondered why she wrote that," the sour-looking witch muttered to the sneering one. "Not nearly as sensational as her usual stuff."

"You are aware, Miss Granger, that you could be charged with conspiring to conceal a class S magical crime?" Savage frowned at her as Professor McGonagall meekly relayed the question, looking stunned.

"Yes, sir," Hermione said just as meekly. "But it seemed like the best way at the time."

Savage glanced briefly at Fudge. "I do see your point. Given your ongoing protection of the Boy Who Lived, which has assuredly saved his life at least once, I doubt charges will be laid against you on this matter. Do you think it likely that Miss Skeeter printed this story in an effort to discredit you?"

"Yes." Hermione let out a tiny sigh of relief. "If she'd managed to make me out to be some sort of dangerous liar... if the Board of Governors hadn't rushed here to question me so fast, and if the rumours had more time to build... I could have said anything I liked about her and everyone would have just assumed I was trying to shift suspicion away from myself."

"Clever," Savage said quietly. "Yes, we'll definitely have to have a word with Miss Skeeter. I'll check with my superiors, Miss Granger, but I think we can let you off with a warning, this time. If you're ever caught concealing illegal activity from the authorities again, though..."

Professor McGonagall didn't relay that one, but Hermione was absolutely truthful anyway. "Oh, I won't, believe me. Never again!" She'd make damn sure she didn't get caught next time, if there was a next time.

Fudge had been sputtering with shock and now finally found his voice again. "An unregistered Animagus! A beetle! Sneaking about and spying... why, she might have been anywhere! Seen anything!" He looked positively terrified. "Savage, perhaps - "

"Don't worry, Mr Fudge," Savage said genially. "I'll handle this one personally - she won't be getting away with it this time. She won't have anything to blackmail _me_ with."

"Not carrying on with any loose women or gambling down in Knockturn Alley, sir?" Stebbins said, grinning.

"Certainly not," Savage said mildly. "I'm a happily married man, Stebbins, as well you know, and if you continue being cheeky, I'll tell Mrs Savage you don't want any more feeding up."

Stebbins made a show of clamping his mouth shut immediately, and Hermione giggled quietly. Professor McGonagall, who was looking decidedly frazzled, cleared her throat to get everyone's attention. "Are there any more questions, or may I release Miss Granger from the charm?"

"Yes, of course." Fudge was now looking at Hermione with sudden nervousness. "I trust, Miss Granger, that you have learned your lesson about blackmail."

Hermione waited until Professor McGonagall had removed the spell, then nodded politely at Fudge. "Oh, yes, Mr Fudge. I promise, I won't ever get caught doing it again."

Fudge nodded and then paused, looking suddenly nervous. Savage and Stebbins looked to be trying not to grin. "See that you don't," Savage said, giving her a little nod. "Ladies, gentlemen, I believe we're finished here? Miss Granger is looking a bit done in."

"That she is," Madam Pomfrey said, giving Hermione an evaluating look. "Professor Snape, would you have any Energy Elixir on hand? Strengthening Solution would be dangerous, of course, but a little Elixir diluted with milk would be all right. If you could bring it to Miss Granger's room..."

"Of course, Madam Pomfrey." Professor Snape nodded and swept out of the room, giving the Governors a disdainful look on his way past.

Hermione was feeling decidedly wobbly by the time they reached her room, and when Madam Pomfrey and Dilly had pushed her into her nightgown and into bed, she embarrassed herself horribly by bursting into tears. Dilly was promptly ordered off for tea, biscuits, and other soothing and strengthening things, and Madam Pomfrey sat down on the edge of the bed, putting a comforting arm around Hermione's shoulders. "There, there... it's all right, dear, you've had a very upsetting day."

"I'm f-fine." Hermione gulped, wiping her eyes with the edge of her sheet. "I am. I'm just a b-bit overtired."

"Of course you are." Madam Pomfrey handed her a hanky. "Late pregnancy is hard enough all by itself, without exams and all those stairs and now this... I'd put you on bed-rest every weekend from now until your delivery if I thought I could trust you to do it."

"I do most of my studying in bed now. I can prop myself up with the pillows so I'm almost comfortable." She wiped her eyes, trying to squash the tired sobs back down. "It just seems so _overwhelming_ sometimes... especially now..."

"I know." Madam Pomfrey drew her into a comforting hug, and Hermione didn't resist, laying her head on the nurse's shoulder. "Being a mother always is overwhelming at times, dear, ask anyone who is one. But it's not that way all the time, I promise."

"I h-hope not." Then Hermione heard the door open and sat up quickly, pulling away from Madam Pomfrey and wiping her eyes. The last thing she wanted was for him, of all people, to see her being so childish.

"The Elixir," Professor Snape said, looking at Hermione with an unreadable expression as he held out the small bottle to Madam Pomfrey. "Is Miss Granger unwell?"

"Just tired out and upset after those nasty accusations," Madam Pomfrey said cheerfully. "A little Energy Elixir and dinner on a tray, then a nice long sleep and all will be well in the morning." Dilly reappeared and Madam Pomfrey joined her at the small table, pouring tea and giving Dilly what were probably detailed instructions about not letting Hermione get out of bed.

That left Hermione very nearly alone with Professor Snape, but not alone enough to talk about anything really important. She looked down at her hands, which were clasped over her stomach. They always seemed to wind up there. "Thank you for the Elixir," she said tentatively.

"I supply all the potions Madam Pomfrey requires for her patients. Thanks are unneeded." He sounded a little terse, and they were both silent for a moment. Then he spoke again, with a note of amusement in his voice. "I never would have suspected you, of all people, of blackmailing somebody. Certainly not over a period of years."

Hermione blushed furiously. "It seemed like a good idea at the time."

"Oh, I agree. But I wouldn't have imagined a member of the Noble House of Gryffindor to be so... practical." She looked up and caught him smirking just a bit. "No wonder she was so desperate to discredit you. A Gryffindor, Harry Potter's dearest friend... even before you became a war heroine, it would have been difficult for her to counter any accusations from you."

Hermione couldn't help grinning a tiny bit herself. "Well, I did think of that," she said, feeling a just a little proud of herself. "Aside from implying that I was what Ron calls a scarlet woman, which she'd already done, she didn't have anything to blackmail _me_ with, so I could get away with threatening her."

"Very devious." It sounded like a compliment. It probably was, coming from him. "If you could play chess as well as you play at intrigue, you might actually win a game someday."

I'll keep trying." Hermione smiled ruefully. "Of course, if I'd known the whole scarlet woman thing was going to be able to come back to bite me, I might not have risked it." Immediately she bit her tongue, wishing she could take the words back. They brought up... things she wished weren't between them but could never be avoided for long.

Snape snorted quietly. "You are hardly a scarlet woman, Miss Granger, current circumstances aside," he said, looking at her with a penetrating gaze that seemed to go right through her. "I have heard more than one Slytherin refer to you, both before and after your pregnancy, as the virgin saint of Gryffindor. I assure you they do not mean it as a compliment - but they would not be slow to call you something worse if you showed any sign of warranting it."

Hermione blinked in surprise, meeting his eyes to see if there was any mockery in his gaze. For once, there wasn't. "Draco's called me that a few times," she said, smiling a little. "I thought it was just him."

Smiling and mentioning Draco, quite unaccountably, made Professor Snape freeze up as mentioning their brief encounter had not. "I fear not," he said coolly. "Madam Pomfrey, is there anything else you need?"

"No, no, Severus, thank you." Madam Pomfrey was bearing down on Hermione with a glass of pinkish milk in her hand and a determined expression. "Now, dear, just drink this down... It won't taste good, but it'll make you feel better."

Hermione took the glass and drank obediently, as Snape walked out of the room without another word.


	18. Chapter 18: Confrontation

**Chapter 18: Confrontation **

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**A/N: Well, what with all the kerfuffle on WIKTT, the multitude of private messages - some supportive, some decidedly not - and everything else, plus certain demanding RL matters like my new job and my bad knee flaring up again, I no longer have the time or the inclination for the patient double-polishing that I had planned for Accountable. So many thanks to the betas for all their hard work, and no blame to them for any mistakes in the later chapters, since they're all mine. **

**The last few chapters should go up tomorrow or the day after. Thanks to everyone who's read this far, and I hope you enjoy the rest of it.**

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The ambush was simple, but effective. Harry referred to the Marauder's Map to locate their target, and then he and Ron loitered outside the library until Malfoy came out. Then it was just a matter of grabbing him and hustling him into a deserted side-corridor, which was much easier now that he no longer had Crabbe and Goyle with him everywhere he went.

"We want a word, Malfoy," Ron said, doing a creditable loom. He was lanky, but still half-a-head taller than either Harry or Malfoy, and much broader in the shoulder than he had been a year ago.

"So I see." Malfoy sneered just a little bit. "I don't suppose it occurred to either of you to _ask_ for it. Or were you just determined to prove how macho you are by bravely shoving the cripple around?"

Harry looked down automatically at Malfoy's half-empty sleeve and scowled. He hated how complicated their previously simple enmity had become. "Yeah, well..." he mumbled a little guiltily. "Look, someone's trying to kill me. Everyone knows that, right?"

"When _isn't_ there someone trying to kill you?" Malfoy shrugged, assuming a bored expression.

After Hermione's little speech on the subject, that struck Harry as funny, and he grinned a little. "So far, pretty much never, but I'd like to try it someday."

Malfoy blinked, and the corner of his mouth quirked just a little. "Yeah, I can see your point there," he said, causing Ron to stare at him in surprise. "It isn't me, though. We both know I could have done it a dozen times during the war and blamed it on the Death Eaters. Why would I make trouble for myself now?"

"We didn't think it was you." Harry shrugged. "Didn't seem like your style."

"But we want to know who it was," Ron said, frowning. "We figure you must have heard something by now."

Malfoy raised pale eyebrows. "Why?"

"Because you're still in Slytherin," Ron said, as if this should have been obvious. "You must hear them talking."

"And you have reason to believe that this person is a Slytherin?" The moment of mutual understanding faded, and Malfoy's eyes narrowed suspiciously. "Or did you just assume that it must be since we're all evil, sitting down in the dungeons and hatching our wicked plots to attack the virtuous, innocent Gryffindors?"

Ron scowled. "Look, everyone knows that most of Slytherin had family on the other side, and a lot of them died. That's a good reason to want to off Harry, isn't it?"

"We weren't the only ones to lose family," Malfoy said coolly. "Or friends. It hasn't escaped anyone's notice that Gryffindor was the only house that didn't lose any current students. You were much more careful about your own housemates than you were about the Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws fighting with you, Potter. That sort of thing can create bad feeling."

Harry blinked. "Hey, I didn't - "

"Didn't what? Didn't surround yourself with your own precious Gryffindors so that they'd be protected along with you?" Malfoy snorted. "Please. I was there, Potter, I saw what happened. You kept them all close so they'd be protected along with you and left the others to fend for themselves."

"It wasn't like that!" Harry clenched his fists, feeling hot and guilty inside. Half a dozen members of the D.A. had died, and not one of them would have tried to fight if he hadn't shown them how. Ernie, Hannah... Smith, vicious and unlikeable to the last... Cho... "You were there, Malfoy, you know what it was like. I couldn't watch everyone all the time!"

"Did you try?"

"Yes, I tried! It was my fault they were there, I was the one who taught them to fight!" Harry heard his voice getting louder and was powerless to stop it. "But I couldn't protect them... I couldn't even protect Ron. He got half the bones in his body broken, remember? If I could have saved anyone, I would have saved him... or Hermione. If Justin hadn't been there, she would've died, and I wouldn't have been able to do anything!"

Malfoy blinked. "Hermione?" He sounded oddly concerned all of a sudden.

"Yeah. It was after I went down." Ron nodded, lifting his hand to his jaw. "You ever see the scar she has just here? Macnair came within a quarter-inch of blowing the side of her head off. He would have, if Justin hadn't tackled him just as he was throwing the hex." He scowled suddenly. "And since when do you call her Hermione?"

Malfoy smirked a little. "Since she invited me to do so. Didn't she mention it to you?"

"No," Ron said, his ears going red.

"She did. We've been terribly civilized since the war. First names and sitting together in Arithmancy and everything." Malfoy shrugged, and held out his left arm in its folded sleeve. "I've given my pound of flesh, Weasley. Along with my blood and bone. What more do you want, my head on a platter?"

Ron went red, probably remembering a certain conversation on the train. Harry wasn't sure he liked the idea of Hermione being friendly to Malfoy, but if she was... "If you do hear anything about who might be trying to kill me, let me know," he said quietly. "I can handle it, but Hermione might get hurt again. I really don't want anything to happen to her or the baby."

Malfoy nodded slowly. "Neither do I. I'll keep an eye out." He straightened up. "Now, unless you want Filch jumping on you for being out after hours, we should be trotting back to our common rooms like good little students."

* * *

Hermione was learning to appreciate the crowds of students moving around the castle between classes. Before her pregnancy, she'd hated getting caught in crowds, especially on the stairs - they'd slowed her down and even made her late for classes once or twice. At eight months along, she was grateful for the little pushes and jostles on the way up the stairs, since they moved her along faster than she could manage on her own.

She'd managed to catch a wave of students going up this morning, and was grinning as the crowd nudged her up the stairs towards Arithmancy. Skiing had been bad enough - there was no way in the world she'd be able to explain surfing to the wizard-born. Harry might think the idea of surfing a wave of students up the stairs was funny, though. She'd have to mention it to him.

She was looking at the place where her bulge obscured the view of her toes when something hit her shoulder hard. She saw a pale hand in a black sleeve out of the corner of her eye, but she was already staggering back, her foot slipping off the stair. She felt her shoulder hit someone who pulled away, and she grabbed someone else's sleeve only to have it slip through her fingers. She'd let out a single startled yelp, but then panic closed her throat and she couldn't scream as she went back and back and back...

Just as she was sure she was about to hit the stairs, a beefy arm clamped around her ribs and jerked her upright by the simple means of lifting her off her feet until they were hanging directly under her, then setting her back on the stair with a jolt. Hermione's knees promptly gave way, and the arm hauled her upright again. "Get a grip, Granger."

Hermione whimpered, her hands shaking so much she could hardly get hold of the railing. "I'm t-trying..." She'd known even before she heard the voice who had caught her. She'd recognize that arm anywhere. "Th-thanks, Bulstrode."

"Yeah." Millicent Bulstrode looked up the stairs, where the crowd had all stopped and turned to look. "Hey! Baddock! Grab the redhead with the pimples!"

The crowd of students parted, and Hermione saw a stocky Slytherin boy towing Marietta Edgecombe down the stairs. Like a number of the other seventh-years from last year, she'd opted to repeat a year so she could sit her N.E.W.T.s. "Got her, Mil," the boy said cheerfully, ignoring Marietta's frantic attempts to get her arm out of his grip. "Was definitely her, I saw her."

Hermione's knees stopped trembling and firmed up suddenly as she glared up at Marietta. "You could have _killed_ me!"

"I wish I had!" Marietta was still struggling against the younger boy's hold. "You bloody bitch, you put this hex on me and I _can't get it off!_" She rubbed her sleeve across her face, wiping off some of the thickly caked makeup that still failed to hide the 'SNEAK' written across her face. "At least if you died it might go away!"

"You did that?" Bulstrode eyed Marietta's face thoughtfully. "You're nastier than you look, Granger. That's been there for years."

Hermione's knees wobbled again. Marietta looked almost mad, her face contorted with hatred. "I can't take it off, and you know it," she said quietly. "I've apologized a dozen times, but I can't take it off, and killing me won't do it. You know what you have to do."

"Oh, yeah, I know." Marietta laughed wildly. "I have to be really and truly sorry, cross my heart. I just have to _repent_. You cast a fucking curse on me that nobody can lift until I really feel _sorry_!"

"Wow." Baddock gave Hermione a rather admiring look. "That's really _sneaky_."

Hermione shook her head. "I didn't mean for it to be so permanent," she said guiltily. "I just... It never occurred to me. I'm sorry."

Marietta lunged at her, nearly breaking free before a short, burly Hufflepuff moved forward to help Baddock restrain her. "You _bitch_, you - "

"What is going on here?" Professor Vector was standing at the top of the stairs, her arms folded. "Shouldn't you all be in class?"

Baddock turned and looked up at her. "She," he said in sweetly innocent tones, pointing at Marietta, "tried to throw Granger down the stairs and kill her."

* * *

Severus intercepted Vincent Crabbe as he left breakfast, and marched him into one of the unused classrooms on the first floor. "Mr Crabbe, is there something you would like to tell me?"

Crabbe slouched against a dusty desk. "No, sir," he muttered, looking at the floor.

"Something about Rita Skeeter?" Severus prompted in a silkily menacing tone. It hadn't been difficult to find out who the culprit was, once Rita had been arrested as an unregistered Animagus. She'd told the Aurors absolutely everything, in an attempt to deflect some of the blame from herself, and Savage had sent Severus a quiet tip-off. Which would get Savage into trouble if anyone found out, of course, but after seven years of sharing a dormitory, each trusted the other to maintain discreet silence where required.

Crabbe shrugged. "Didn't particularly want to tell you about that," he said, giving Severus a suddenly defiant look. "Sir."

"Would you care to tell me why you did this?"

A massive shoulder lifted, then dropped. "Because I wanted to make the snotty little bitch miserable. And Potter, too, by association."

"Why?" Severus dropped the menacing tones and carefully calculated intimidating posture. That wasn't working, and it probably wasn't going to. "Why her, I mean. Potter I quite understand about."

Crabbe continued staring at the floor. "Loads of reasons."

"Being a Gryffindor? Being a Muggle-born? Being the only reason Potter survived long enough to kill the Dark Lord?"

"Yeah," Crabbe mumbled, but Severus could tell that he hadn't reached the root of the trouble yet. The boy was still hunched and tensed, waiting for... something... to fall.

He would have to talk them both through it. Crabbe simply didn't have the capacity for introspection required to ferret out his own deepest motivations. "But any one of them would have done for that, wouldn't they? You wanted to get at Miss Granger personally."

"Maybe." _Yes_, said the body language and the sulky expression.

Severus looked at Crabbe, and Crabbe looked stubbornly at the floor. The boy had been unhappy ever since he returned to Hogwarts, but something like this, something that required planning and at least rudimentary cunning - this was more serious than mere unhappiness. It would take a lot to motivate the stolid Crabbe to this sort of exertion.

"It is... unfair," he said quietly, and Crabbe's broad shoulders twitched in unspoken agreement. So what was unfair? Crabbe certainly had a lot to resent, what with the death of his father, his godfather, his best friend and dozens of his allies. Death - maybe that was it. "Is that what you resent? That she lives, and creates new life, when so many who mattered to you are dead?"

"It's not fair," Crabbe muttered, lifting his head to look at his Head of House. Resentment simmered in his eyes, probably visible even without Legilimentic ability. "They're all alive and happy and... and everything, and she's having a baby, and Greg's just... gone."

Severus nodded. "It's not fair," he agreed, because it wasn't and the least he could do was to acknowledge it. "But it's not the child's fault, Vincent. Taking a crack at making Harry Potter and his little band miserable is one thing, but sentencing a child to live under that kind of suspicion is unacceptable."

"Didn't work anyway. Just wanted to tarnish up the perfect virgin saint a bit, make her know what it's like to be a Slytherin, with everyone against you." Crabbe kicked the leg of a desk moodily. "Draco keeps kissing up to her. Makes me sick, the way she goes around pretending to be all sweet and saintly even when we can all see she's no better'n she should be..."

Severus had to force his fists to uncurl. "You misjudge her," he said quietly.

"Pansy told us that she saved your life." Crabbe's eyes twitched up from the floor, briefly, to glance at him curiously. "She's still a Gryffindor, though. They're all alike."

"That they are not, any more than all Slytherins are alike." Severus looked away, wondering if he dared risk it. But Crabbe, unlike most of the others, could seriously harm her if he took it into his head to do so. He had no scruples, no morals, and no imagination to keep him from acting by conjuring up the possible consequences. And since he wasn't especially fond of Severus himself, Hermione having saved his life would act as no deterrent. "I have... shall we say, reason to believe the child's father is a Slytherin," he said, looking up at the cobwebbed stone of the wall. "Or was. Miss Granger does not share the prejudices of many of her house."

Crabbe's face twisted in revulsion. "With a _Mudb-_"

"Spare me, Mr Crabbe." Severus snorted. "I knew your parents when we were all at school, I know about your mother's... background. Even I have a measure of Muggle blood. Let that particular outdated and irrational prejudice go."

Crabbe looked uneasy. "But - "

"The war is over. The rhetoric no longer serves a purpose." Severus fixed him with a long, piercing stare. "I cannot force you to keep silent about my suspicions about the child's parentage, but I invite you to consider what Miss Granger will go through, trying to raise a child alone because to name his father would cause more trouble for them and for the child than they dare risk. Or what your former fellow Slytherin feels, knowing he will never dare to acknowledge his own child. Because of those on both sides like you and like Ronald Weasley, who still believe a foolish house rivalry is _important_."

He had, perhaps, put a shade too much feeling into the end of that statement. Crabbe was looking thoughtful now - a sight to frighten any teacher, let alone one with a secret to keep. "Never thought of that," Crabbe said slowly. "She always says the father didn't want to hang about."

"What else could she say?" Severus shrugged slightly, watching the boy carefully. He seemed to be softening somewhat. "She cares for her child. We must credit her with that at least."

Crabbe nodded. "She does seem keen on it." Fecundity was valuable among wizards, but a genuine interest in motherhood was even more so. Pansy Parkinson's mother had produced her son and daughter merely in accordance with convention, and rarely paid any attention to them; and while Narcissa doted on Draco, childbirth had traumatized her so badly that even Lucius had never dared suggest to her the possibility of doing it again. There were similar cases in all the houses, always, although Severus didn't know the particulars. Crabbe, having been fortunate enough to have a dim but affectionate mother himself, could probably be relied on to understand this.

"Very." Severus made a dismissive gesture. "Strike at Harry Potter and his friends if you will - temporary alliance aside, you know as well as everyone else that I can't stand any of them. But do not strike at the child again, or I will ensure that you regret it for a very long time, do you understand?"

"Yes, sir." Crabbe met his eyes again, his expression clear of resentment now. "Might be-"

"_I have never in my life been so appalled by the behaviour of a student! Not one more word!_"

The shriek came from outside the classroom, and Crabbe grinned a little. "Old McGonagall's got her knickers in a twist over something."

"Professor McGonagall," Severus corrected absently, following Crabbe out into the hall. Minerva was stalking up the stairs, her thin hands clenched into fists. Just behind her - and Severus and Crabbe both stared in surprise at this - Millicent was hovering solicitously over Hermione Granger, helping her up the stairs. Behind them, Professor Vector was prodding someone along with her wand - someone whose hands were bound behind her had a head of and messy red curls - Marietta Edgecombe, Severus suspected.

"What the hell...?" Crabbe said under his breath, staring at Millicent. Who was smirking pointedly, Severus was relieved to see. At least if she was up to something, she hadn't actually gone mad and started being kind to Gryffindors out of the pure goodness of her stony heart.

Severus looked around. There were clusters of students everywhere, naturally, even though they had no business not being in class, and they were all whispering. He settled on one who was whispering gleefully, instead of looking puzzled. "Mr Baddock. What is going on out here?"

Malcolm was positively agog with excitement, any grudge against his Head of House apparently forgotten. "We were on the second-floor stairs, a whole crowd of us, and Edgecombe tried to shove Granger down the stairs and kill her," he said, bouncing a little on his toes.

"She _what_?" Severus found that his fists were clenched again, and the words had come out in the quiet purr he saved for real fury.

"It would've worked," Malcolm said happily. "Only Millie caught her and kept her from falling. And she told me to grab Edgecombe before she could get away, and I did." His chest swelled with pride. "And McGonagall gave me ten points, for catching her, and she gave Millie fifty points for catching Granger, and I don't think anybody's ever gotten that many out of her for Slytherin before."

"Not to my knowledge." As furious as he still was, Severus smiled slightly. She probably had no idea, of course, but Minerva McGonagall had done more to ingratiate herself with Slytherin in ten minutes than Albus had managed in any year of his Headmastership.

Malcolm preened delightedly. "And Millie said she'd help Granger up to the Headmistress's office and tell McGonagall everything 'cause she saw it, and it was a really _prime_ bit of sucking up, McGonagall was all pleased with her and everything."

"Not bad," Crabbe said, looking up the stairs at Millie's broad back with an admiring expression. "We all know how soppy McGonagall is over Granger. Fifty points... that puts us ahead of Gryffindor again, right?"

"By twenty-eight," Malcolm said, nodding. "And only twelve behind Ravenclaw."

"A lead I suspect they will very shortly lose," Severus said absently, gazing after Hermione. She _looked_ all right... moving slowly, of course, but she always did now. Then he realised that both boys were looking at him inquiringly, and he smirked just a little. "Edgecombe is in Ravenclaw."

"Bless her pimply little face," Malcolm said with deep sincerity. "Sixty points _and_ gutting her own house for us."

Crabbe guffawed. Severus couldn't help letting his smirk widen slightly. "Yes, quite. I trust, of course, that this has adequately demonstrated what a very bad idea it is to openly attack a fellow student... particularly Granger." He gave Crabbe a pointed look. "Were Professor McGonagall ever to find out who tipped Rita Skeeter off, for example, that person would very likely find himself summarily expelled, his house stripped of points, and, if Professor McGonagall had her way, hung at dawn."

Crabbe blinked, and then nodded slowly. "Yeah," he said, with a transparently cunning expression. He had no idea how to be subtle, even now. "It'd be a terrible thing if she ever found out."

"Indeed it would." Severus nodded. "Excuse me, gentlemen. You have classes you should be in, and I suspect my presence will shortly be required in the Headmistress's office."

* * *

The Aurors had been summoned. Savage again, this time accompanied by an unusually serious Tonks, her hair a demure brown. The Heads of House had been sent for to witness Marietta's official expulsion and were now gathered rather protectively around poor Professor Flitwick. Millicent Bulstrode had given evidence to the effect that she'd seen Marietta shove Hermione down the stairs, and then Professor McGonagall had explained why.

"...Miss Granger was punished at the time, of course, for using so unpredictable a curse on a fellow student," she concluded. "But Miss Edgecombe's lack of penitence for the betrayal of her friends' confidence is her own doing, not Miss Granger's. It is certainly no excuse for attempted murder."

Hermione glanced at Marietta, who had gone rather pale. Apparently the consequences of her action were finally starting to sink in. "But I didn't mean to-" Marietta said weakly.

"You did too." Millicent gave her a disdainful look. "You said right in front of everyone that you wished it had killed her."

"But -"

"Have her parents been notified?" Savage asked Professor McGonagall. "We can contact them, if not."

"They have been. Madam Edgecombe is an employee of the Ministry, so you may expect her to begin making a fuss at once." Professor McGonagall frowned. "Probably claiming that Marietta was of unsound mind or some such thing, due to the curse."

"She can justify trying to kill Miss Granger all she likes," Tonks said, looking grim. "But she can't possibly have any grudge against the baby, and if Hermione died he or she would die too."

"Attempted murder of an expectant mother isn't going to go down well." Savage nodded, giving Hermione a thoughtful look. "There'll be a trial, of course, but that's probably just a formality. Azkaban isn't what it was, of course, with the Dementors gone, but it's no holiday at the seaside all the same."

Marietta was as white as a sheet now. "Azkaban? But - "

"That's where murderers and would-be murderers go, Edgecombe," Tonks said firmly, tugging Marietta to her feet. "We'd best be getting along, if that's everything... I'd like to be there when Madam Edgecombe starts throwing her weight around."

"Of course. Thank you for responding so promptly." Professor McGonagall inclined her head politely.

"Not at all, Professor. You go on, Tonks, I'll be with you in just a minute." Savage watched as Tonks shoved Marietta into the fireplace and climbed in after her, and then nodded. "Miss Granger. You all right? No injuries to be added to the charges, anything like that?"

"No, sir," Hermione said quietly. Her voice was being only marginally cooperative, and her knees kept going funny every time she realised she'd come within a hair of being killed along with her baby. "Bulstrode caught me before I hit the steps."

"Good." Savage gave Bulstrode an approving look. "You're a credit to your house, Bulstrode. Acted quickly and effectively. Ever given any thought to Magical Law Enforcement?"

Bulstrode blinked. "Er... no, not really. Do you think I should?"

"It's a good job, especially when you're young. Decent pay, lots of action, that sort of thing." Savage nodded. "And not many Gryffindors. A few of them make Auror, but they don't generally bother with the grunt work - and those that do get tossed out sharpish if they can't let old house prejudices go."

"Really?" Bulstrode nodded slowly, clearly thinking this over. "That doesn't sound half bad."

"Think about it. Get Snape to do you up a nice reference. Meanwhile, you and Miss Granger'll both probably have to testify at the trial. You'll be notified." Savage nodded politely to Professor McGonagall, and ducked into the fireplace.

"I blame myself," Professor Flitwick said in a very small voice, sounding like a broken-hearted mouse. "If I'd managed to make her understand the nature of the curse... or found some way to remove it..."

"And if you'd managed to make me understand the nature of the Dark Mark when I was her age, and found a way to remove it, I wouldn't have done a great many things," Professor Snape said quietly. "That does not mean that you are to blame for my doing them. Miss Edgecombe knew what she was doing."

Professor Flitwick sniffed, and reached up to pat Professor Snape's hand gently. "Of course, my boy, of course. But even so, I fear I have let her down in some way..."

"You did everything you could for her," Professor Sprout said firmly. "Every house has the occasional bad egg. Nothing you could do about it."

"Perhaps I am simply getting too old to handle the duties of Head of House," Professor Flitwick said sadly. "I have, after all, headed Ravenclaw for nearly seventy years. Professor Vector, perhaps..."

"Don't be ridiculous, Filius," Professor McGonagall said firmly. "You're tired and upset just now, that's all." She turned a meaningful look on Hermione and Bulstrode. "Thank you for your assistance. Miss Granger, I suggest you see Madam Pomfrey to make sure there are no ill effects from being thrown about. Miss Bulstrode, thank you again for your assistance. Should you choose to pursue a career in Magical Law Enforcement, I will be happy to provide you with a second reference."

Once outside, Hermione and Bulstrode exchanged rather uncertain looks. "Thanks again for saving my life," Hermione said tentatively.

"Didn't do it on purpose." Bulstrode grinned just a little. "Saw a body flying at my head and caught it. Habit, really." She looked at the gargoyle. "McGonagall's not bad, is she? Never seen her give Slytherin so many points."

"Well, she's Headmistress now," Hermione pointed out. "You can favour your own house a bit when you're Head of House, everyone does, but the Headmistress should be impartial."

Bulstrode snorted. "Not like Dumbledore. Favoured Gryffindor like mad, he did."

"Yes, well..." Hermione couldn't help making a rather sour face. "He certainly wasn't impartial. Even some of the Gryffindors noticed and got angry about it."

Bulstrode gave her a deeply sceptical look. "Oh, yeah? Like who?"

"Percy Weasley, for one."

Bulstrode considered that, and her expression softened slightly. "He wasn't so bad, for a Gryffindor. Always polite, and he wouldn't let anyone push the Firsties around."

Hermione nodded. "I always liked him. He took being a Prefect so seriously - the responsibility, I mean. Not just for Gryffindor, but for all the younger students."

"Yeah. He was all right. Used to patrol down in the dungeons, even, and most Gryffindors don't bother." Bulstrode shrugged. "Anyway, McGonagall does seem like an improvement on the old codger. You off to the hospital wing again?"

"I suppose I have to. Honestly, everyone seems to think I'm made of eggshells - every time I get a shock or a bump, it's off to the hospital wing with me." She looked down at her stomach. "I doubt he even noticed more than a bit of a jerk, really. He's quite well protected in there."

Bulstrode nodded approvingly. "Being pregnant doesn't make you fragile, it just means you tip over easier. My Aunty Gwen's had five, and she just kept doing everything the same as usual right up until they were actually born."

Hermione felt a moment of honest admiration for Aunty Gwen, who was clearly pretty tough - although if she was built anything like Millie, she probably had enough length in the body and width in the pelvis to accommodate a baby much more comfortably than Hermione could. "Wow."

"Yeah." Bulstrode looked smug. "Have fun dragging yourself up all those stairs." She headed off, much faster than Hermione could walk.

"Cow," Hermione muttered, without any real heat, and set off on the long trek to the hospital wing.


	19. Chapter 19: Conscience

**Chapter 19: Conscience**

* * *

The expulsion and arrest of Marietta Edgecombe caused almost more excitement among the students than Hermione Granger's pregnancy had. It was quite late before Severus had managed to frighten the last of his Slytherins into their beds, and Draco had put up as much resistance as any overexcited first-year. Only the threat that he was in danger of exposing his fondness for the girl and thus making her a target for vengeance against him had made Draco stop fussing and go to bed.

When all was finally quiet, he cast a couple of surreptitious sleeping charms on the first-year dormitories and slipped out. Although nothing had been said, he was almost certain that someone was waiting to speak to him.

Minerva McGonagall was still at her desk, her hat discarded and her face weary. The lines around her eyes and the silver threads in her hair still startled him at times - she had for so long remained exactly the same that the change still came as a bit of a shock. "Hello, Severus," she said, giving him a slight, lopsided smile. "I thought I might be seeing you."

"Under the circumstances." He nodded, habit moving him to take up the position by the fireplace that he had favoured when reporting to Albus Dumbledore. He glanced up at Dumbledore's portrait - disorienting to have both portrait and ghost wandering about - and raised an eyebrow. "It seems our new Headmistress has a different approach to yours, Albus."

Minerva winced, and the portrait frowned a little. "I still think that Minerva was rather harsh," the portrait said thoughtfully. "Still, I do not think that I would have acted so very differently myself, under the circumstances."

"Of course you wouldn't. A member of an unimportant house attacked one of your beloved Gryffindors." Severus was in no mood to coddle Dumbledore's self-indulgence. Hermione and his child could have died, and the thought still made his blood run cold.

"Severus, that is unfair," Dumbledore protested gently. "While I cannot deny that I have at times showed some slight bias towards my own old house -"

"'Slight' and 'at times' aren't the words I would use for it, Albus." Both man and portrait looked around in surprise at Minerva. To Severus's knowledge, she had never used such a tone to Dumbledore before. "You blatantly favoured them and always have. I won't deny that I did as well, of course, but all the heads favour their own houses to some extent. You, however, were the Headmaster, and should have been impartial."

Dumbledore blinked. "At what time did I blatantly-"

"When the attempted murder of a Slytherin student was punished by a week's worth of detention, because the perpetrators were Gryffindors?" Severus asked silkily.

Dumbledore stared at him for a long moment, and then his eyes lowered. "Severus, at the time -"

"At the time you were far more concerned with James and Sirius than with Severus, who would have been far more use in the early war than the two of them combined," Minerva said harshly. "I know you were fond of them, Albus, so was I, but their behaviour was inexcusable and yet you excused it."

Severus wasn't sure whether to be insulted or pleased by Minerva's assertion that he would be more useful, as if that were the only consideration that mattered, but the stunned look on Albus Dumbledore's smug face was decidedly enjoyable. It was so much easier to resent the man now that he was dead and could no longer use his charm and fatherly demeanour to dull Severus's anger. "I quite agree," he said coolly. "Particularly since I knew even then that you would show no such leniency to a Slytherin who attempted the murder of a Gryffindor."

"That is unfair, Severus," Minerva said, giving him a reproving look. "Draco did try to kill him, after all, and he was quite lenient in that case, even though he might not have been in yours."

"But -"

"That is enough, Albus," Minerva said, giving the portrait an identical reproving look. "Neither of us wishes to speak to you just now. Please go away while we have our discussion."

The portraits were all magically bound to obey the current Head of the school, and thus Albus was forced to take himself off, still frowning. "That's better," Minerva said with some relief. "He and I never agreed over that, you know. I always favoured much harsher punishment of wrongdoing than Albus - he was always inclined to forgive and forget even when it was clearly foolish to do so."

"It was always his way." A way from which Severus had benefited, but it was still annoying. "You always were... firmer."

"In more ways than one." Minerva grinned rather impishly at him, and then laughed at his startled expression. "Did you know I was once lectured severely for smuggling a gentleman friend into the school shortly after I begain teaching? I was most incensed at being treated like a wayward student."

"I... did not know that." The change of subject had been abrupt enough to be disorienting even without the rather shocking nature of the new subject, and Severus found himself somewhat at a loss.

"No, you didn't. I was always rather saddened that you didn't follow in my disgraceful footsteps," Minerva said, looking at him over the top of her glasses. "You were so young when you began teaching... it would have done you good to misbehave a little now and then."

"The opportunity did not present itself," he said, looking away. He would have liked to... misbehave, now and then. But although there had been a few women, none had been of the sort he'd want knowing where he slept. For safety's sake, if not for the sake of decency.

"No, I suppose not. But it is a pity." Minerva nodded. "Still... I believe that Albus mishandled the situation between you and Sirius. And I, at least, would have expelled any student who attempted the murder of another, no matter what house either might be in."

"And granted enormous numbers of points to any student who prevented it, regardless of house." Severus did smile a little at that. "Malcolm Baddock was strutting about like a peacock, and Millicent Bulstrode has never been so enthusiastically congratulated by her house-mates. I believe they are all much more inclined to accept you as an impartial authority now than they were before."

"Good. I intend to _be_ an impartial authority, as much as possible. Which includes putting our erstwhile rivalry behind us. You are not longer the head of a house opposed to my own." She smiled suddenly. "No longer are you an extremely vexing student who persists in asking awkward questions instead of merely doing what he is told. Miss Granger may have been difficult as a child, but you were an absolute nightmare."

Severus tried not to look too pleased. It was a compliment, although many wouldn't see it that way. "Miss Granger, on the other hand, does not question enough... although she is beginning to learn."

"She is." Minerva nodded. "A sign of maturity, perhaps."

"Perhaps." Severus looked away, not quite trusting his own expression. Hermione was an adult, although she still had her adolescent moments, and that knowledge was not... comfortable.

"I think it is." Minerva rose from behind her desk, wincing and putting a hand to her back. "Anyway. I have no intention of permitting attacks on students by other students, Severus, no matter what house they are in. I do, however, have every intention of seeking my bed, as it's been a bloody long day and I want my hot-water bottle. You should get some sleep yourself... you look awful."

"Perhaps I should." The near-loss of his child, a cessation of rivalry with Minerva and sixty points to Slytherin all on the same day had made it a long and wearing one. If he hurried, he might get to sleep before the next major shift in his personal universe.

* * *

"That was a particularly apalling performance."

Hermione nodded, leaning back in her chair and rubbing her face tiredly. "I know, and I'm sorry. I just can't concentrate tonight."

Snape nodded, rising from the chessboard to pour more tea for both of them. "I would have thought you would be inured to attempts on your life, by now," he said dryly.

"You don't ever get used to that, I think... at least, I don't. Thank you." She accepted the utilitarian cup and saucer that he handed her and sipped the tea. Plain and strong - she'd been surprised to discover that his taste in tea coincided with hers. "But it's not that, so much. It was all over so fast, and it was a fairly inept attempt."

"Inept murderers succeed every day." He sat down opposite her again, examining the chessboard. Her pieces had almost all been removed and set on the edge of the table. "What is important enough to distract you from learning the rudiments of tactical thinking?"

She gnawed on her lip. "Guilt," she admitted. "For putting that curse on Marietta. Well, on the parchment, but I knew that someone might trip it. I should have done more research."

"You didn't need to do more research. You needed to do more thinking," he said, setting up the chess-pieces ready for another game. "You knew the nature of the curse, you simply didn't think through all the possible consequences of using it."

"No, I didn't. Which is the same problem I keep having with the chess, isn't it? I know all the moves, but I can't anticipate all the possible consequences of each one." Hermione sipped her tea again, frowning. It was irritating, finding such a lack within what she had thought was a well ordered mind. On the other hand, it was very pleasant to be able to sit down and reason things out with Severus Snape, having a real adult conversation...

"It is, although I wasn't sure you'd grasped the nature of the problem." His tone was offhand, usually a sign that she'd gotten something right and he didn't want to seem pleased.

"I don't like it, but I've grasped it." Hermione reached over to set the two pieces she'd managed to capture - through sheer luck, probably - on the board. "I don't like chaos, and I don't like the unpredictable. I like things to be tidy."

"A failing of the overly organised mind." He leaned back in his chair, watching her thoughtfully. "Should you wish to be a scholar, then you need change nothing. Working with magic, however, requires constant adaption, as even the slightest change at the beginning of a process can produce wildly different results at the end."

"Like Potions." She nodded. "And I still feel guilty over Marietta's curse, even though she tried to kill me. Am I being hopelessly Gryffindor again?"

He actually smiled for a fleeting instant. "Actually, no. A true Gryffindor in the perjorative sense would have stopped feeling guilty the moment the victim of the curse did something that retroactively justified being cursed."

Hermione winced. "On behalf of my house... ouch." That was entirely too accurate for comfort. "But you can't retroactively justify cursing someone. It's not as if I knew she was going to try to throw me down the stairs."

"Of course not. Her actions in no way excuse yours. You feel guilty because you know quite well that you did wrong."

"I did. And I do." Hermione rested her teacup on the convenient ledge of her stomach. If she was sitting at the right angle, she could rest a bread and butter plate on it now. "I'm finding within myself an irritating tendency to hold myself accountable for my own actions," she said, feeling a bit whimsical. "I suspect I've come down with a bad case of maturity. I thought being a Gryffindor was supposed to make me immune."

"Generally it does, in my experience. Perhaps your extensive contact with members of other Houses during the war weakened your immunity."

"That could be it." Hermione's cup jostled slightly in its saucer, and she pressed her hand gently to the side of her bulge. "Stop that. He occasionally gets the urge to use my liver for a football," she explained, as Snape looked at her curiously. "And... ow... to use my bladder for a drum. May I?"

"Of course." He didn't get up, this time, merely waving her towards the door. "State your name - I have reset the wards to admit you, since I have no intention of walking you to the loo every ten minutes."

"Really?" He frowned, and she turned hastily towards the door. "Of course. Thank you."

He had reset the wards to his private rooms to allow her access. Unsupervised access. She could have rummaged in his drawers or ogled his private book collection without let or hinderance. Not that she would, but just for him to put her in a position where she _could_... Hermione went as quickly as she could, determined not to let him think she'd been hanging around in his rooms gawking, and her hands were still damp when she got back to his office. "Thank you again," she said, smiling at him a bit shyly. "I honestly don't think I _could_ make it up to the girls' loo on the first floor anymore."

"You do seem to have slowed to a stately waddle," he agreed, and smirked at her when she made an offended noise. "What were we discussing before you left?"

"My inability to predict the consequences of my actions and the mitigating factor of at least being mature enough to feel guilty for doing someone permanent harm." Hermione eased into her chair with a relieved sigh. "To which my waddling applies, really." It was like poking at a sore tooth. As much as she never wanted to discuss it with anyone again, she couldn't help referring to her pregnancy when they talked. "Another example of my failing to consider the consequences of my actions, and hurting someone else."

"That particular... event was not without consequence for you as well," he pointed out, his expression going still and closed. "Unlike the curse on Miss Edgecombe."

"That's true." She smiled ruefully. "You know, books go on and on about the miracle of life and the wonder of motherhood and all that, but you know what they don't mention? Heartburn. I've been living on Acidium Antidote since I stopped throwing up every morning."

"I wondered why Madam Pomfrey kept requesting more." He tapped a thin finger thoughtfully on the chessboard. "You could make it yourself, you know. It's a fairly simple potion, but it would help you to keep your hand in, and none of the ingredients are harmful in your condition."

"Could I?" Hermione tried not to sound too enthusiastic. She _missed_ Potions, and all the written work with none of the practical was getting a little dull. "I'd have to use the laboratory... you wouldn't mind?"

"Certainly not. I have better things to do with my time than brew a third-year potion over and over." He shrugged. "I would, of course, have to supervise, but it would at least minimise the time I must spend on restocking the hospital wing."

"That would be wonderful!" He raised an eyebrow, and Hermione blushed at her own enthusiasm. "I miss it. Potions, I mean. It's so..." She gestured vaguely. "Such a _deep_ subject. I like Charms and Transfiguration, but there are only so many levels to even the most complex spells in those subjects. But Potions... especially with all the new research I've been doing... it's so complicated. There are so many variables, and yet they _can_ all be qualified if you just get hold of them."

Snape nodded slowly. "It does, in fact, have a great deal in common with chess. Yet you see the same qualities as a challenge when making a potion, and a threat when playing a game."

Hermione had never thought about it in quite those terms, and she thought it over for a moment. "I suppose I do, really. Brewing is... creating something, and I like that. Chess is a sort of attack on me personally, and that makes it feel more threatening and less exciting."

"I see." He tapped his finger on the chessboard again. "I think we will have our Saturday meeting in the laboratory. Maybe the theories I've been trying to teach you will come more easily there."

* * *

Severus was smiling slightly when he let himself back into his quarters. The evenings he spent with Hermione were often frustrating, when he saw her struggling with things that should have been easy for someone so bright, but tonight had been productive. She was beginning to understand her own blind spots, and even to be able to work around them a little. Her admission that she felt guilty for hurting Miss Edgecombe had surprised and pleased him... responsibility wasn't a common Gryffindor trait, but it seemed she'd picked it up somewhere.

The smile slid off his face when he realised that his small sitting-room was occupied by a pale figure. Not the usual one-handed figure, either, but a translucent ghost with a long silvery beard. "What do you want, Albus?" he asked a little shortly. Talking with the former Headmaster was always painful, and he could feel his pleasure in Hermione's progress - and her company - slipping away.

"You and Minerva rather upset my portrait last night," the ghost of Albus Dumbledore said mildly. "Wouldn't even let him complete a sentence, as I understand it."

"Neither of us were there to talk to him." Severus folded his arms. "And I meant every word of what I said."

"Yes, I imagine you did." The ghost steepled thin fingers and looked at Snape meditatively. "And you were right... I always was rather biased. Not that my portrait would agree. He was, after all, created to mimic me in life. I, being dead and aware of the fact, have a rather better perspective on my own life."

"'Rather' is an understatement. You pandered shamelessly to Gryffindor and ignored the other three houses as much as possible." Severus moved over to the cabinet and poured himself a glass of brandy. If he was going to have to cope with the ghost of Albus Dumbledore, tea would not be enough. "Even the Gryffindors noticed it."

"Oh, dear. It was worse than I thought, then." Dumbledore sighed an insubstantial sigh, drifting over to the nearest bookcase to look at the books. "And I thought I was doing so well at the time."

"You always did." Dumbledore had never, to Severus's knowledge, admitted to being wrong. Mistaken, occasionally, or ill-informed, but never _wrong_.

"Yes, I suppose I did." Dumbledore examined the spine of a tome on twelfth-century alchemy. "Miss Granger came through here a short while ago. I stepped into the wall until she was gone, not wanting to alarm her."

Damn and blast it, Severus knew that innocent tone well enough. That was Dumbledore's I'm-giving-you-a-chance-to-explain-before-I-start-asking-awkward-questions tone. "Not that it is any of your concern," Severus said, gritting his teeth. "But I have been giving Miss Granger lessons in elementary tactics, since Lupin is pitifully incompetent when it comes to teaching anything more complex than two persons throwing hexes at one another across a flat surface. She came in here to use my bathroom, since it is a long walk to the girls' facility on the first floor."

"And you have reset your wards so that she may enter without your presence." Even as a ghost, Dumbledore could still twinkle irritatingly. "A privilege even I was never accorded."

"It is one you never merited," Severus said, meeting silver twinkle with black glare. He was in no mood to be teased tonight, all the more because he had been happy until Dumbledore appeared. "You had no innocent reason to be in my rooms without my presence, being quite limber enough to reach the nearest facility and not in a position to have someone hit you in the bladder on a regular basis."

Dumbledore winced. "Good heavens. I had no idea babies could do that."

"Neither did I. Apparently pregnancy is far more uncomfortable than fiction would have us believe." Hermione was becoming more forthcoming with the details of her pregnancy. He'd tried to hide his fascination with the complex process of building an entire working human being from scratch, but he wasn't sure he'd succeeded.

"Apparently so. Miss Granger seems to be bearing up remarkably well under the strain." The twinkle softened a bit, and Albus nodded approvingly. "She seemed quite cheerful when she passed through, and I've heard only good reports from her teachers."

"She is... coping." Severus had to resist the urge to soften himself at the thought of her. "She is working hard, and seems to anticipate her N.E.W.T.s with more excitement than dread."

"Good." Dumbledore nodded. "She is a unique young woman, who will doubtless achieve great things."

"Burdened with an infant when leaving school, it's unlikely she'll have the time or opportunity for greatness." That thought soured Snape's mood even further. It was entirely her own fault, of course, but he didn't like to see her promise blighted by his child.

"She may yet surprise you, Severus." The twinkle was back, and more irritating than ever.

"I doubt it. If that is all, Albus, it has been a long day and I have marking to do." Severus glared at the ghost, who drooped slightly, losing some of his twinkle.

"Of course, Severus. Goodnight." Dumbledore drifted out through the door, and Severus took a minute to strengthen the wards and add a layer against ghosts. He did not like having anyone able to just wander into his rooms - even Draco couldn't open the bedroom door.

He really did have marking to do, but he ignored it to read over Hermione's latest research. She had delved enthusiastically into the more complex Healing potions, and he wondered if perhaps she might have potential as a Healer. She might be able to arrange the training around the baby, if she went to one of the small facilities in Wales or Scotland instead of St Mungo's... they had much more trouble finding trainees, so would be willing to make allowances, and they probably had some sort of child-care facility for the married Healers.

He spent a soothing hour scrawling comments all over the parchment - only some of them critical - and then went to bed. Staring up into the darkness, he allowed himself to construct a pleasant mental image of a pretty, green-robed Healer with a slender neck and delicate hands, who was happy in her work and who finished her afternoon by collecting a curly-haired toddler from a sunny roomful of children. He fell asleep while constructing and furnishing their cottage, and trying to decide how many bookcases might be necessary.

* * *

"Hey, Hermione!"

Hermione looked up from her breakfast as Colin Creevey plopped down on the other side of the table. "Hi, Colin."

"Hi!" Colin beamed at her. War, privation, and the early demise of his favourite camera at Death Eater hands hadn't lessened his cheer at all. "Listen, Hermione, could you do me a big favour?"

"What is it?" Hermione raised an eyebrow. "Is this going to involve you taking pictures of something?"

"Well, yeah. Doesn't everything?" Colin grinned and tapped the camera hanging around his neck. "Look, I need to start building up a portfolio. I could leave it 'til next year, but let's face it, you're an opportunity that isn't likely to happen again. Working at school I'm pretty limited age-wise. Everyone's under eighteen or over forty... or eighty. At least if I can manage the pregnant lady and the guy with one arm I'd have some _variety_, you know?"

"Draco's agreed to this?" Hermione gave him a startled look.

"No. That's the other part of the favour, I need you to help me convince him." Colin glanced over at the Slytherin table with a positively hungry expression. "He's got great bone structure. If I can just get him in the right lighting and a better outfit..."

"Okay, if you want me to convince him you're going to have to stop doing that," Hermione said firmly, trying not to snicker. "You're looking at him like a starving man at a lamb chop. He'd probably find it just a bit off-putting."

"Non-photographers never understand the importance of bone-structure," Colin said, sighing deeply. "So will you help?"

Hermione couldn't help smiling at his obvious enthusiasm. "Well... I suppose. If you give me a couple of copies of the pictures for my parents."

"Deal!" Colin beamed, bouncing to his feet again. "Try to hold the baby in for another week or two, okay? Professor Flitwick says he'll have the Charms Club do the scenery, but I really need to get some costumes worked out."

"Costumes?" Colin was already accelerating away. "Hey, Colin, wait, what costumes?"


	20. Chapter 20: Iconography

**Chapter 20: Iconography**

* * *

Draco Malfoy was doing a favour for Colin Creevey.

The statement was, in and of itself, absurd. Draco didn't do favours, and he certainly didn't do them for a mobile inane grin in a Gryffindor scarf. But Hermione had asked him to do it, as a favour to her, and he'd been so pleased that she actually thought they were close enough for her to _ask_ him for a favour that he'd immediately agreed to everything.

In retrospect, he should have asked exactly what it was Colin wanted him to do. Thank Merlin his costumes hadn't been too bad. Colin had eight sixth and seventh year girls dressed up as 'flower fairies', which were apparently some sort of superstition held by Muggle gardeners. Draco himself only had to be the Personification of Winter (a rather handsome outfit in pale grey wool and white satin) and a Forlorn Knight, which involved black velvet, a sword, and a shield held in place by a charm to hide the fact that his lower left arm was missing.

He'd been outside at dawn to do the Forlorn Knight bit, and had nearly frozen to death because not only was it was February and bloody cold outside, Nearly Headless Nick and the Grey Lady had been in the picture with him. Creevey had kindly helped him stumble to the Slytherin table and poured him some coffee before vanishing upstairs. Ten minutes later, Draco had seen him dragging Professor Lupin past the doors of the Great Hall, and had been pleased to notice that Lupin was wearing a decidedly drafty-looking brown robe with a rope belt. With any luck, something important would freeze off and Nymphadora would lose interest in him.

The Seasons bit had, thankfully, been left until after breakfast. (Lupin had been a bit blue around the lips at breakfast, but seemed otherwise unharmed, which was a shame.) Now Draco was back outside, waiting for his turn to pose in the small courtyard that the Charms Club were running through all four seasons in the space of about an hour and a half.

Spring had been quite pleasant to watch - Ginny Weasley in ever-so-slightly transparent gauzy green, with her arms bare and more than a hint of cleavage. (There had been charms involved to keep her warm, presumably.) Ron Weasley had provided additional entertainment by going purple attempting to insist that Creevey cover her up. Potter had been enjoying the show, but hadn't at all liked Draco enjoying it as well, so Draco had enjoyed it as visibly as possible.

Draco had ignored Summer, since it was only Justin Finch-Fletchley being forced to look Casually Manly in sky blue and white. Autumn, however, had gotten his full and undivided attention.

Hermione, naturally. And wearing the robes _he_ had given her. No matter how many times he tried to tell himself that she didn't understand the significance, there was a part of himself that was exulting at her acceptance of the indication of his intentions. He'd been right... they suited her perfectly, especially with her wavy hair pinned up and decorated with tiny sprays of orange berries. Creevey posed her carefully, hitching her skirts up to show slender ankles and small bare feet, and Draco was suddenly very glad he was sitting on an uncomfortable chunk of frozen rock. Hermione looked far too enticing, and had he not already been going a bit numb...

Far too soon, Hermione was climbing off her rock, trim ankles concealed again and her smiles being wasted on Creevey. Perhaps it was fortunate that Draco was immediately dragged over to what Creevey called 'the set' - he might have embarrassed both her and himself by some sort of public declaration, otherwise.

He would get her alone later. Today. He would definitely say something today.

* * *

Hermione couldn't help but admire Colin's stamina. He'd been up before dawn, shoving Hagrid into a gigantic St Christopher costume (complete with drowsy first-year on his shoulder), and he hadn't stopped moving since. Neither had his able assistant Dennis, who was running ahead to ensure that each new set was ready the minute Colin finished with the last one. Everyone else had gotten breaks between shots... nobody was in more than two or three, and Colin had allowed plenty of time for resting and changing costumes.

Now he was looking very weary, but triumphant. "I'm almost done," he said cheerfully. "Just you, and the Archangels Michael and Gabriel, and then I'm all finished. Today has been a very productive day."

Hermione nodded. "You're absolutely certain you want me to do this?" she asked, still feeling a bit odd about it. "I mean... well..."

"You're perfect." Colin lowered the camera he'd been looking through, smiling at her. "Really. I've always loathed the icons that have her all blonde and blue-eyed. Or looking stoned. A stoned Virgin always just looks really wrong. You're a bit fair, but at least you've got dark eyes and hair, and you're not exactly ivory-pale even in winter."

"It still feels a bit weird." Hermione smoothed the simple gown a bit nervously over her stomach. "I know the Slytherins call me the Virgin Saint sometimes, but it's not literal."

"That's what gave me the whole idea, actually." Colin moved a stone bowl full of figs slightly closer to her hand, and stood back to admire the effect. "You look... right. The way I've always imagined her. Small and soft and pretty in an ordinary sort of way, like a real person."

"Thank you." Hermione smiled at him, and the camera clicked. "Wait, I wasn't ready -"

"You were just right." Colin lowered the camera again. "I'll still do the posed shot, but I think that one might be better."

Ten minutes later, they were done, and Colin helped her up off the wooden stool she'd been sitting on. "There. Thanks for all this, Hermione."

"You're welcome. It's been... fun, actually. And you did promise me copies of all the ones I'm in." Although how her parents would respond to a picture of her as the Virgin Mary, she didn't dare think.

"I promised _everyone_ copies. I'm going to be in the Potions lab all night developing them." Colin grinned, seeming quite pleased at the prospect. "Anyway, I'd better go get started on my Archangels before Justin's wings fall off again. For some reason they just won't stay with him."

"Could be some sort of Divine disapproval of him being gay." Hermione grinned a little. "Or just that you've been running the Charms Club ragged and they're all getting tired."

"They agreed to this of their own free will," Colin said giving her an innocent who-me look. "On the condition that Professor Flitwick watched them showing off, which he did, so there you are."

Hermione nodded. "Colin? One question, before you go?"

"Yeah?" He was already at the door, looking back at her enquiringly.

"Why are you only doing two Archangels? You did four Seasons."

"I could only _get_ two Archangels." Colin scowled. "I tried for a set, but I couldn't get anyone who looked even remotely right for Raphael, and when I asked Professor Snape for Uriel he said no. And threatened to stuff my camera up my nose."

Hermione had done a little reading, when the subject of icons came up, and gave Colin a horrified look. "You asked Professor Snape to be the Angel of _Death_?"

"Of course. He'd have been great. Severe and kind of haunted, you know?" Colin sighed deeply. "Oh, well."

"Colin, that was... tactless isn't a strong enough word!"

"You mean because he was a Death Eater?" Colin shrugged. "I guess. Anyway, I have to go, I can practically hear feathers falling like rain."

Hermione watched him dash off, biting her lip. No wonder she hadn't seen so much as the tip of a hooked nose all day... he'd probably not only been offended by Colin's thoughtless request, it could have really upset him. She knew death was, to say the least, a difficult and touchy subect for Snape now. To be asked to represent it...

She'd better go find him. Just to make sure he wasn't turning students into toads or locked in his rooms moping.

Getting out of her Virgin Mary costume didn't take too long, with Dilly's help, and once she was back in the ugly but cosy student robes she headed for the dungeons. There was no answer when she knocked on the door to his office, and she was heading for his rooms when she heard her name.

"Hermione!" She turned to see Draco, also in student robes again, smiling down at her. "What are you doing wandering around down here?"

"Looking for Professor Snape." She felt her face going pink, and added a hasty excuse. "Colin was... uhm... a bit rude to him. He asked him to pose as the Angel of Death."

Draco winced. "Tactless little shit... not that it surprises me. He's not here, though - he went into Hogsmeade after breakfast. He told Professor McGonagall he wanted to shop for replacements for the student stores, but he told _me_ he just wanted to get out of the way of all the fuss."

"Oh." That made perfect sense, of course. But she couldn't help being a little disappointed that it was quite certain he hadn't seen her looking nice for once. "Well, as long as he's got something to do that isn't turning Colin into a flower-pot."

"I'm sure he could manage both." Draco grinned. "He won't, though. He's mellowed a bit now that the war's over. I've seen him go for whole classes without making a single student cry."

Hermione grinned. "I've heard that. He's even been known to let Harry get away from a Potions class without a verbal evisceration."

"Yeah. I think he might be coming down with something." Draco looked more relaxed than usual, somehow, and for once his smile didn't have a wry edge to it. "I'm actually almost glad you tricked me into the whole photography thing."

"I did not trick you! I asked you!"

"You didn't tell me I'd be wearing a costume. Or going out at dawn to pose in the slush."

"Yes, well... I didn't know about that either." Hermione ducked her head sheepishly. "Colin just said he wanted to build up a portfolio. He didn't mention that he wanted to single-handedly introduce the entire Wizarding World to Narrative Imagery."

"Is that what he calls it? The whole story-picture thing?" Draco shrugged. "It was interesting. And at least my costumes were dignified. And I was right... the brown and yellow did suit you."

"It did. And thank you, it was a beautiful gift." She looked up, meeting his eyes as she smiled up at him. It had been a lovely gift, and she was glad he thought she'd looked nice in it. The baby kicked and she touched her stomach gently. _I wish your daddy had seen me in it... would he think I looked nice?_

Draco made an odd noise, looking away suddenly, and she reached out to touch his whole arm. "Are you all right?"

"Fine." He smiled at her, but this time just a meaningless stretching of the lips rather than the warmth of minutes ago. "It's being out in the cold so much... it makes my arm twinge a bit." He rubbed the end of his left arm, just below the elbow, and made a wry face. "Not that I'd admit it to the general public, but it still gives me some trouble sometimes."

"Oh, I'm sorry." She nodded. "Ron has the same trouble, especially in the cold. You should go get properly warm before dinner."

"I probably should." He nodded, his face a little tight with what she assumed was pain. "I'll see you later, Hermione."

* * *

Severus was not pleased to find the Potions classroom occupied when he slipped down after dinner to restock the cupboards with fresh daisy root and dried tansy flowers. He'd spent the whole day away from the school avoiding Colin Creevey, and here the boy was, spreading out his possessions across most of the classroom. Severus did regularly permit students, including Creevey, to develop their photographs here, but only supervised and with permission.

The boy had, admittedly, done a surprisingly good job of the light-diffusing spell that cloaked the room in shadow even when the door was opened unexpectedly.

"What, precisely, do you think you are doing, Mr Creevey?"

"Developing the pictures from today," Creevey said absently, holding up a print and examining it. "It went really well. Take a look at some of these." His tone was casual but not disrespectful - he was simply too absorbed in what he was doing to pay much attention to the interloper.

"I did not give you permission to use the classroom," Severus pointed out, but he drifted over to a table where several of the dry photographs had been spread out. Draco was in one of them, standing between two ghosts. The beautiful woman he stared at imploringly, as the ghostly knight tried to warn him of his peril."La Belle Dame Sans Merci," Severus said quietly.

"The one with Malfoy? Yes, exactly," Creevey said, surprising him. "I always wanted to try it. I like Keats."

"I'm surprised. You've never struck me as having sufficient patience to do your homework, let alone reading poetry." The picture was beautiful... and a little unearthly. Draco looked barely more solid than the Grey Lady, his sword lying forgotten at his feet as he stretched out his hand to her. "And I still did not give you permission to use the classroom."

"You weren't here to ask, and I wanted to get these done quickly." Creevey shrugged. "Don't worry, I'll clean up when I'm done." He lifted another picture out of a vat of the potions that magicked photographs into motion, making a pleased sound ."Oh, this is lovely... take a look."

Severus found himself leaning over to look, instead of snapping at the boy for his insolence. He saw Ginevra Weasley standing on a great lump of broken stone, her red hair blowing around her as she laughed in delight. "Spring," he guessed, and Creevey nodded, looking pleased. "Draco mentioned you were doing a set of seasonal images."

"He made a great Winter, look." Another picture, this time of Draco in silvery grey and stark white, sitting quietly on the same lump of stone, but with snow drifted around it now and a few flakes caught in Draco's hair. As he watched, the image lifted his head to look up at the sky, his thin face unwontedly peaceful.

Severus nodded slowly. "You've captured it well," he said, and meant it. He would never have believed bouncy, overenthusiastic Colin Creevey capable of envisioning and photographing such a serene and contemplative moment.

"Thanks." Colin nodded. "Wizarding photography is... complicated. You can't just pick a model who _looks_ right, their state of mind has to be right as well, or the picture goes all over the place when they start to move. Harry kept trying to escape out of the first pictures I took... he hates being photographed. Malfoy would have been complete shit as Winter two years ago. Now... he can just _stop_, you know? And enjoy a moment of silence and peace. He's right now."

Severus looked at Creevey's nondescript face. His usual cheerful smile was missing, now, and he wore the intent expression of a craftsman at work. He looked suddenly very much older, and Severus was painfully reminded of seeing that same face pale and slack on a stretcher, and the stench of blood and ruptured intestine from his pierced stomach. "You are right," he said quietly, and turned to one of the pictures still hanging up to dry.

It was Hermione, this time, and his stomach clenched a little. Creevey had found the delicate beauty of bone and line that Severus saw in her, and captured it for the world to see. She was sitting on the same piece of rock, with autumn leaves drifting around her slender feet and ankles, her hands cupped gently over her stomach and a small, private smile on her face. "Very nice," Severus said, flat and inadequate, as he ached with an almost physical urge to reach out and draw her back from that remote absorption with his child that left none of her thoughts for him...

"She's beautiful, isn't she?" Creevey sounded as proud as if he'd constructed her himself. "But this one is even better." He picked up another of the dry pictures, handling it gently. "Look."

Hermione, again, but this time with her hair in a loose braid hanging over her shoulder, half-covered by a soft drape of blue cloth over her head and shoulders. Underneath it she wore a simple, shapeless green dress that stretched across her stomach as she sat on a wooden stool with a bowl of figs on a window-ledge beside her and a spindle at her feet. She was smiling again, but it was a different smile, a warm and welcoming smile, as if she were about to rise to her feet and greet the newcomer joyfully.

"This is... an icon," Severus said slowly. "A photographic icon." Hermione as the Virgin... He should be shocked, and yet it looked _right_. No over-dressed sanctity or wax-doll perfection, just a pretty girl with irregular features and untidy hair and warm dark eyes.

"One of several." Creevey smiled fondly at the picture. "Two Archangels, four Saints, and the Virgin."

"Only two Archangels?" He _wanted_ this picture. Wanted to be able to see that smile whenever it pleased him.

"I could only get two." Creevey actually looked ill-at-ease for the first time. "Er... Hermione said it was rude to have asked you, and I'm sorry if it offended you. But there's nobody else at the school who could do it."

He'd been offended. And angry, and pained that the boy thought of him that way. "Why did you think I could?"

"Because you know death," Creevey said quietly. "Because you've faced it and fought it and feared it and denied it and accepted it and you understand it, as much as anyone still living can. I've always imagined Uriel as more... resigned, than anything else. Not grieving, because he's had a long time to get used to the idea, but perhaps a little sad that it's necessary. You would be... right."

"Then I am not offended." And he almost - not quite, but almost - wished he'd granted the outrageous request. Someone who could capture Hermione's elusive beauty and Draco's hard-won peace might have found something in him, too. "At least, not by your request. Your presence in my classroom without permission, on the other hand..."

For the first time, Creevey actually gave Severus his full attention. "I'm sorry if I've invonvenienced you, sir, but I really wanted to get these done. The pictures are better if you develop them within twenty-four hours, when the images are still... fresh."

"It is not a matter of inconveniencing me, Mr Creevey, it is a matter of your being in a place where you have no business being without a teacher present." The statement, which should have been cutting, fell rather flat. Creevey had not, after all, been meddling and prying like an ordinary nosy student, but working, hard and efficiently.

Creevey clearly caught the lack of his usual certainty. "Then why haven't you taken twenty points off Gryffindor and ordered me back to my common room?" he asked. Severus hesitated, and he nodded. "It's... awkward for everyone, isn't it? Us still being here, after the war." He rested a hand on his stomach, where there was surely an impressive scar under his robes. "You... the teachers who fought with us... you don't treat us the same anymore. And we don't treat you the same, either.

"You can't follow someone into a battle, cover his back in a fight and come around to him pouring a Blood-Replenishing Potion down your throat and then go back to school and think 'oh, yes, he teaches Potions' and not think any more about it. And I bet you can't fight with someone and lead them and heal them and then go back and think 'oh, yes, just another student', either. Because I'm _not_ just another student. I've killed people and I've watched my friends die and I've had a dirty great chunk of wood shoved right through me and been sure I was dying, and as hard as I try now I really don't give a flying fuck about house points or detentions or any of that crap because it is profoundly fucking unimportant!" The words that had been boiling out of him stopped suddenly, and Creevey actually blushed. "Er. If you know what I mean, sir."

Severus nodded slowly. "I do know what you mean." He remembered shouting at Creevey in the heat of battle, roaring orders that had been obeyed swiftly and courageously. He remembered the brother, Dennis, being carried away on a stretcher, screaming, with acid burns splashed across face and arm and shoulder, and Creevey gritting his teeth and moving up to cover the hole left in their ranks. And they had come back - nearly all the students who had survived had come back - and they'd pretended to still just be students and he and Minerva and Hooch had tried to pretend to still be teachers, but Creevey was right. Things had changed, irrevocably, and while the pretence was necessary for the benefit of outsiders, there wasn't much point trying to maintain it between themselves.

"Good. Because I'm not trying to be cheeky or anything, sir, it's just..." Colin shrugged. "We're just going through the motions here, aren't we? I don't mean the actual lessons, but... Everyone wants to pretend that everything's gone back to the way it was, and we've all got to play along, but we're not kids anymore. We're just... not."

"No. You're not." Severus picked up another picture at random and looked down at it. Susan Bones, as fierce as a valkyrie in Gabriel's armour. On the table was a charming picture of Lavender Brown, kneeling beside a lavender bush. Both girls were pretty. Susan made Lavender look like a colourless child by contrast. (Susan had suffered internal injuries on the second-last day, in the same attack that had killed Hannah Abbot) "But the... appearance must be maintained. Any suggestion that those of you who fought with us are favoured above the others would be frowned on by the Board of Governers, not to mention the general public."

"Of course. I'll remember to ask next time." Creevey nodded. "But it's hard to remember to pretend, if you know what I mean."

"I know better than most, Mr Creevey, how hard it is to remember to maintain a pretence." Severus nodded, and felt an absurd rush of what might be happiness when the young man nodded and grinned lopsidedly at him. He hadn't realised that, even among the Gryffindors, he had earned respect at last. Even if it was only with a few of them.

"I thought you would." Creevey turned back to his work. "And I'll try to keep up the pretence. Until then, sir, with all due respect, please go away and let me get this done, or I'll be here all night."

Severus couldn't help a sudden laugh that startled both him and Creevey. "In other words, bugger off, sir. Very well, Creevey, I will leave you to your work, and get to my own."

The infuriatingly cheerful grin was back, and Creevey nodded to him politely. "Thank you, sir. Much appreciated."

Severus left... but not before surreptitiously pocketing the picture of Hermione as the Virgin. Creevey always made multiple copies of everything, and he wanted this one much more than Creevey possibly could.

He was planning a safe hiding-place for the picture when he opened the hidden door into his quarters - and then, when he stepped through, something crunched under his feet. He looked down at the shattered remains of a teacup and then up at Draco.

Draco, wound as tight as a spring with tension. Draco, with his hair a mess and his face pale. Draco staring at him with a miserable accusation that Severus hadn't seen since the days just after Albus Dumbledore's death.

"Why didn't you tell me?" Draco said, his fist clenching as he turned to face his godfather. "Why didn't you _tell_ me?"

Severus stared at him. "Tell you what?"

"That the baby's yours!"


	21. Chapter 21: Alliances

**Chapter 21: Alliances**

* * *

Severus couldn't deny the accusation. He couldn't bring himself to lie to Draco, not now, not after... everything. "How did you find out?"

"How did I... you're not even going to _try_ to deny it?" Draco's voice rose, shaking a little in fury. "You keep this a secret from me, lie to me by omission, and all you have to say for yourself is 'how did you find out'?"

"Well, given the secrecy we have tried to maintain on the subject, for obvious reasons..." An idea occured to him, and Severus felt his stomach knot. Hermione's Gryffindor honour would surely impel her to tell Draco the truth before allowing him to take on any responsibility for the child, but he'd had no idea that things had progressed so far between them. "Did she tell you?"

Draco laughed a grating, humourless laugh. "Oh, yes. She told me. Of course, she has no idea that she did. She has no idea that I know."

"You used Legilimency," Severus accused, and Draco looked away, which was confirmation enough. "You used Legilimency on her, without her knowledge or consent!"

"I wanted to tell her how I felt... how I feel!" Draco turned away, half raising his clenched fist. "But I didn't... I wasn't sure if she cared. If she'd... laugh. I just wanted to get an idea of how she felt, just a hint, and I know I shouldn't have done it, but I looked just for a second." He shook his head violently. "She was thinking about the baby. And you. About it being _yours_."

"Those who eavesdrop rarely hear good of themselves," Severus said, controlling his temper with an effort. "And those who invade the minds of others who trust them do not _deserve_ to, as well you know, Draco."

"I know that!" Draco's voice cracked, and Severus realised that he was on the verge of tears. "I know that, but I gave in to the temptation, and you..." He wheeled to glare accusingly at his godfather ."You've been encouraging me! You told me to try, with her, and all the time you knew _this_!"

"Yes, I knew that I fathered the child. And you know, as everyone at the school does, that the father of Hermione Granger's child has chosen not to be named or acknowledged!" Severus fought the urge to turn away and pace himself, meeting Draco's eyes squarely - although with his Occlumantic shields firmly in place. "You were willing to accept a child without a father, or so you claimed. Is it really so dreadful a prospect to accept _mine_?"

Draco opened his mouth, and then closed it again. "And you'd just... give them up?" he asked, frowning. "To me?"

"I don't _have_ them, so I can't give them up." The stolen picture burned at his conscience. "There is nothing between me and Miss Granger, there never has been, aside from a single... lapse of judgement. I would never have encouraged you if I had any intentions of my own, surely you know that."

"I thought... I didn't know what to think." Draco turned away again. "You said, once, that I was the closest you would ever come to having a son," he said in an oddly muffled voice. "But now I'm not. Don't you... want him?"

Severus felt his stomach unclench just a little. "I want him to be happy," he said quietly. "And I know that I would be a very poor father, even if his mother and I were - involved, as we are not."

"I think you'd do all right." Some of the tension went out of Draco's shoulders. "But you and Hermione really aren't..."

"No." He squelched the pain of that admission ruthlessly. "Win her, if you can, with my blessing."

"And the baby?" Draco asked tentatively.

"You are still the closest I will ever come to having a son, Draco," Severus said gently, reaching out to touch the thin shoulder. "Hermione's son or daughter is better off without me."

The shoulder twitched under his hand, but didn't pull away. "Didn't she want you to acknowledge him?"

"She offered me the opportunity, if I wanted it, but she knows that association with me would only make the child's life more difficult." She did know that. She must. She had made the offer purely out of Gryffindor honour, surely.

Draco pulled away, rubbing his hand absently over the end of his left arm. "I need to think about this," he said, not looking at Severus. "I wish you'd told me."

"Perhaps I should have. But a lifetime of keeping anything that might endanger me a secret is hard to overcome."

"Yeah." Draco headed for the door, ignoring or perhaps not noticing the broken china crunching under his feet. When he reached the door he stopped, resting his hand on it for a moment. "She likes me," he said very quietly. "As a friend. Nothing more. I don't think it could ever be more."

"I am sorry," Severus said quietly. And while he meant it, while he truly wanted his godson to be happy, a small and shameful part of himself rejoiced and hoped for something he refused to admit even to himself.

"Yeah." Draco's voice cracked again, and he slipped out hastily.

Severus mechanically cleaned up spilled tea and broken china, his brief contentment shattered around him once again. Draco was unhappy. His child had no prospects for fatherhood.

And he wouldn't let himself think about Hermione at all.

* * *

Draco didn't pay much attention to where he was going. He just walked, his head down and his eyes barely focused on the stone under his feet.

Hermione didn't care about him. Oh, she liked him, she thought he was a friend, but she didn't _care_. Not the way he wanted her to.

She was in love with his godfather.Really in love. Severus might think it had been a brief error of judgement, but Hermione loved her baby's father, she damned well _longed_ for him. And Draco was just a friend.

It wasn't fair. He wanted to hate Severus for doing this to him, but that would mean hating the one person who _did_ love him, who wanted him to be happy and had been willing to surrender any hope of being with _her_ for Draco's sake. Because of course he'd been lying about there not being anything there. How could anyone know Hermione that well, fight beside her, _sleep_ with her, and not care?

Except for Weasley, of course. But Weasley was an idiot, and the fact that he and Hermione had broken up only proved that he was too stupid to live.

A gust of cold wind jolted him out of his plans to murder Weasley in some humiliating way which would seem accidental, and he realised that he'd worked his way up to the astronomy tower. Habit, perhaps... it was a quiet place to hang out, he and Vince and Greg had often sneaked up here when they were younger.

A faint whiff of smoke suggested that he wasn't the only one who remembered that. A bulky figure was leaning against the stone parapet, a tiny gleam of red betraying a lit cigarette. He hadn't seen Draco, yet, there was still time to sneak away...

"Hey, Vince." Draco drifted over to stand beside him, feeling a brief ache at the emptiness of the space on his other side. "Thought you quit those things."

"I did." A long drag, and then a faint plume of pale smoke that was whipped away by the wind. "But everyone who told me to quit is dead now, so..."

"Yeah." Greg and Vince had been sneaking up here to smoke since their second year. He'd joined them, sometimes... not to smoke, because it made his hair stink, but to stand upwind and talk while they smoked and grunted agreement now and then. It had been... peaceful. And then, of course, they'd been ordered to drop the filthy Muggle habit when He had returned, and things had started to change for everyone. "I forgot how bloody cold it gets up here."

Vince snorted quietly. "Yeah. Helps if you remember your cloak."

"I wasn't planning to come up here at all. I was just... wandering around." Draco pulled his robes tighter around him.

"Yeah." There was a long pause. "Why'd you change sides?"

That was Vince. Mr Tactful and Indirect. "Because I didn't want to die."

Vince was frowning. Draco didn't need to be able to see his face in the darkness, he could _hear_ that puzzled it-hurts-to-think frown, after all his years with it. "But He killed everyone who changed sides."

"He was trying to kill me anyway." Explaining things to Vince (and Greg) was such a habit by now that it didn't bother Draco to talk about it, somehow. "To punish my father for failing him. That's why He gave me the _honour_ of trying to kill Dumbledore, because He thought I'd die trying. And then I failed at that, and my options were either to run away and get tortured to death when I was caught, or not run away and get tortured to death _now_. Running away seemed like the best choice."

"Yeah. See that." Vince thought it over for a minute. "But you didn't have to fight with Them."

"Yes I did. I wanted them to win, and kill Him, so I wouldn't get tortured to death." Draco shrugged. "Survival, Vince. Power's nice, but continued existence is better. If you're still alive you can try again for power _later_."

"You could've said something. To us, at least." Vince drew on the cigarette again, the red light brightening for a moment. "You just walked out on us, Draco."

"Well, yeah. Do you have any idea what He'd have done to you if he thought you knew where I was or what I was doing?" Draco sighed, leaning against the chilly stone parapet. "Wouldn't be much of a friend if I dragged you down with me."

"Huh." Clearly this was a new thought, and Draco waited patiently while it was digested. "Could've kept them off us, though. You knew who was gonna be hiding."

"And I would have, if I'd known - I was down with a concussion at that point." Draco sighed. "For what it's worth, Potter tried to stop the Aurors when Snape told him who was likely to be inside. He's an arsehole, but he's got a bit of a thing about people attacking women and kids after what happened to him and his mother."

"Point." Another new thought, and another pause. "I miss him," Vince said, abrupt and embarrassed.

There was no need to ask who. "Me too," Draco said quietly. "Both of you. We were together for a long time."

"Yeah." Vince turned around, leaning his back against the parapet and tipping his head back to look up at the stars. "It's not the same, with Pansy. I mean... it's not bad, or anything..."

Draco grinned, glad it was concealed by the darkness. Vince had had a crush on Pansy for years, and laboured under the fond illusion that Greg and Draco hadn't known. "Yeah. Pansy's not bad. Even if she did dump me."

"I thought it was the other way around," Vince said, sounding a little surprised.

Draco laughed. "'fraid not. She sent me a note to the effect that I was a lout and a scoundrel and she could do much better than me, thank you so much." He paused for a moment. "I understand the two of you are working together quite well now."

He could almost hear the dull blush sweeping up Vince's face. "Well... 's all right..." Vince mumbled, sounding a bit pleased. "She's got good ideas."

"Better than mine, probably. I never did get the hang of being devious. Or cunning. Not to the Slytherin Standard, anyway." It was less painful to admit now than it would have been before... although he never would, to anyone but Vince. "She'll boss you half to death, though."

"Don't mind," Vince mumbled sheepishly.

"Yeah, I'll bet." Draco snickered, and a heavy hand whacked him on the shoulder. "Hey!"

"You stop it." Vince sounded more relaxed than he had in a long time, and thus the next question caught Draco unprepared. "You're after Granger, now, aren't you?"

Bitter disappointment and loss, half-forgotten in the need to have his friend back, swept over Draco again. "No," he muttered. "Not anymore."

"Why?"

"She's interested in someone else. Found out tonight."

"Oh." There were no expressions of sympathy, and Draco was relieved. He didn't want sympathy, that would only make everything feel worse. "Probably for the best. Potter would've skinned you, anyway."

"He would've _tried_." Draco shrugged. "Of course, he and Weasley have an advantage. They outnumber me now."

A quite rumble of displeasure issued from Vince. "They been trying it on again? After you fought on their side?"

"I'm still a Slytherin. You know what they're like."

"Yeah." Vince sighed deeply and unconvincingly. "I s'pose I better start keeping an eye on you again. Can't trust those two to behave decent."

It was the closest thing Draco was going to get to 'all is forgiven' and he accepted it as such, reaching out to clap Vince gently on the shoulder. "Thanks."

"Forget it." Vince flicked the cigarette over the edge of the tower, tumbling like a tiny red falling star into the darkness. "Should get back inside. It's cold out here."

* * *

Hogwarts had far too many stairs. Far, far too many.

"Why couldn't I go to a flat school?" Hermione grumbled under her breath, leaning against the wall. It had seemed like such a simple thing - going up to the hospital wing to get more of the potion she took for heartburn, because her current supply was almost gone. In retrospect, she should have sent Dilly. Or waited for tomorrow.

Halfway back to her room, exhaustion had hit her like a big soft rock, and she'd found herself clinging to a stone banister with her head spinning. It had been a long day, even with Colin making sure she had time to rest, and suddenly her room felt horribly far away, and she was afraid to go down more stairs in case she got dizzy and fell.

She'd been stuck halfway down a flight of stairs for half an hour now. Curfew was well and truly past. If she got caught, there'd be trouble... but on the other hand, there'd also be someone to help her get back to her room, so she sort of hoped someone caught her soon.

"Mraaah!" Mrs Norris appeared at the bottom of the stairs, staring up at Hermione accusingly.

Gratitude for mushy Muggle catfood only went so far, it seemed. "Yes, I know I'm not supposed to be out," Hermione said wearily. "But I'm too tired to get back to my room. Please go get Mr Filch or someone?"

"Mrrrow." No less shrill, but slightly less accusing, and Mrs Norris whisked away with obliging speed. Barely a minute later, Hermione heard an approaching mumble, interspersed with shrill meows, and sighed in embarrassed relief.

"What are you doing sitting on the stairs at this hour?" For once, Mr Filch didn't sound gleeful about catching someone out. If anything, he sounded just a little concerned.

"I got dizzy," Hermione said, feeling sheepish. "I've overdone it a bit today, I think, and I was afraid to keep going in case I fell over. It'd be a shame to kill myself falling down the stairs after avoiding having someone else make me do it."

"You shouldn't be walking around the castle alone at this time of night," Mr Filch said disapprovingly, but he offered her a thin hand and pulled her to her feet with surprising strength. "Come on, then."

Hermione somehow found herself inching down the stairs with her arm tucked securely into that of the student-hating caretaker. She couldn't help asking. "No detention?"

"No. It's in the school rules," Mr Filch added hastily, as if to be sure she didn't get the idea that he might like her personally. "There's no punishment for students who have been hexed, cursed, injured, or otherwise rendered unable to return to their common-rooms by curfew, provided that their injuries are not self-inflicted through carelessness or stupidity."

"Well, I did sort of tire myself out." Hermione leaned gratefully on the offered arm. "But thank you. I certainly didn't _want_ to sit out on the stairs all alone until someone happened to find me."

"Of course not." Mr Filch supported her without any apparent difficulty, Mrs Norris trotting along ahead of them and glancing back frequently to make sure they were keeping up. "Dizzy spells do happen in your condition."

"So do lots of things." Hermione scowled. "Like heartburn and varicose veins and fainting unexpectedly."

Mr Filch snorted, in what was probably an amused way. "Well, it can't be much longer now."

"Another month and a bit," Hermione said, looking down at her stomach sadly. Another month of getting bigger and bigger didn't sound at all appealing.

"It'll probably be early. First babies often are." This was clearly meant to be comforting, and Hermione decided not to inflict on him the long list of things that could go wrong for babies born early. "And don't think I won't give it detention if it runs around after curfew in eleven years."

"Of course you will." Hermione nodded seriously. "And then, even worse, you'll write to me and tell me all about it and I'll send a Howler."

"Oh." Mr Filch was silent for a moment, clearing his throat once or twice. "Yes, of course. Not that that ever stopped you and your little friends."

"Well, it didn't stop them. And if they'd gone off without me they might have burned the castle down." Hermione shuddered. "You don't want to know what they get up to _without_ me or Ginny around to hold them back."

"Probably not." He was silent until they reached her door. "Well, here you are then."

"Here I am. Thank you, Mr Filch." She patted his thin arm, and he went mauve with what looked like pleased embarrassment. "I'll be more careful in future."

"See that you are." He nodded and hurried off. Mrs Norris rubbed up against Hermione's ankle and then followed.

"Well. That was... nice." Hermione smiled, and slipped into her room so Dilly could yell at her for not looking after herself.

* * *

"I wonder if Squibs were ever changelings," Hermione said thoughtfully, slicing valerian root into paper-thin sheets.

"What do you mean?" Severus had been a little stiff, when she'd first arrived at the potions laboratory this afternoon. Much more like the domineering teacher he'd been, as if he was trying to set aside the friendlier companionship they'd managed lately. His reserve had melted in an argument over the properties of foxglove, though, and he asked the question with apparent interest.

"I was thinking about Mr Filch. He helped me get back to my room the other night, when I had a dizzy spell on the stairs." Hermione stroked her stomach absently. "He was quite nice, for him. And I can't really blame him for being bitter - it must be horrible for him, having all these magical children running around treating him as if he's mobile furniture, and never having had any magic himself. I can't really blame him for resenting us."

"No." Severus nodded slowly. "He would certainly have been happier elsewhere. But there are few opportunities for employment for Squibs, in our world. I imagine he had to take what he could get."

Hermione nodded. "And I wondered if Squibs were ever changelings... you know, the Muggle stories about waking up to find a different baby in the cradle. Because it would make a nasty sort of sense, if you were a wizarding family with a Squib baby, to find a Muggle family with a wizard child and exchange them."

Severus nodded slowly. "If they were certain that the child was a Squib, and they could find one about the same age. A glamour on the new baby to disguise the difference, gradually adjusted so that the child simply seems to change as he or she grows older.."

"So nobody would ever have to know. Except the poor Muggle parents who woke up to find a different baby in the cradle where theirs had been." Hermione nodded. "Most of the stories about changelings have a strong, healthy child vanishing and a weak, sickly one taking its place."

"Probably both inbred and neglected, once its lack of magical potential was realised. Anyone who would simply abduct another child to replace their own probably wouldn't have lavished tender care on the disappointing child." Severus frowned. "It's entirely possible. The ability to produce healthy, magically gifted children was of paramount importance until quite recently, among wizards."

Hermione shuddered, cupping her stomach protectively with one hand. "It's a horrible thought. Just discarding your baby and stealing another one to take his place. But there are people who do things like that even now, for reasons that seem to make sense to them."

"It might explain the rise in the number of Squibs born in the twentieth century," Severus said, frowning as he ground dried foxglove blossoms with inattentive expertise. "The Ministry was beginning to regulate interactions with Muggles at around that time..."

"And Muggles were starting to keep track of things like infant mortality. Abducting some farmer's child that hardly anyone else had even seen was one thing, but drawing attention by a rash of mysterious kidnappings that the parents could prove had happened..."

"Would have been frowned upon, yes." He set the foxglove blossoms aside and leaned against the bench, frowning. "There has been speculation that the rising numbers of Squibs... not a large number, even now, but an increased percentage... is a result of inbreeding within too small a population. If our speculation is correct, there may have been no increase at all, merely an increase in the number who survived to be counted."

"It could be a little of both." Hermione watched him covertly. He was far more relaxed now than he ever was in public, slouching comfortably as he propped a hip against the bench. "If our speculation is correct, Muggle-borns were probably introduced into even the purest of wizarding lines, either as substitutes for insufficiently gifted children or brought in as spouses after being sneaked into another 'suitable' family. Repugnant as the idea is, it would have given a measure of protection against genetic stagnation, especially since the stories say that only strong, healthy, attractive babies were taken."

"Regular introductions of healthy peasant stock into the overbred pure-blood lines." Severus chuckled sardonically. "You'd get lynched if you ever suggested it to some of them. It would explain how they survived for so long, though. Most aristocracies breed themselves out of viability within a few hundred years. Even with the longer wizard lifespan, most of the old pure-blooded families have held on with surprising strength until quite recently."

"It'd be fascinating to do a really in-depth genealogical study," Hermione said, valerian root forgotten now. "Into the family histories and so on. There'd probably be patterns... several mysterious still-births or early deaths followed by a single healthy child, for example. Or cases where the usual strong family resemblance skipped a generation or two, or vanished entirely."

He laughed suddenly, and shook his head when she gave him a startled look. "Hermione, do you ever have a thought that doesn't lead you to the need for research?"

His voice was as warm as she'd ever heard it, amused without being the slightest bit disparaging, and that had much more to do with Hermione's sudden blush than his actual question. "Er... not really. I'm never content with just speculation; I want to _know_ about things."

"So I've noticed." He shook his head, actually grinning. "Very well. In the spirit of continuing research, do you know why you are slicing that root instead of cubing it?"

Hermione returned the grin. "Because if I cubed it, it would take too long to cook through and the knarl quills would have lost their potency by the time it was ready."

"Precisely. The interaction between ingredients is as important as their innate properties..." He began to lecture, and Hermione settled down happily to listen.

* * *

Severus was getting worried.

Akilah had been inside his locked, warded bedroom when he went to bed, curled up on his pillow. After a brief altercation over the ownership of said pillow, she had stalked off; he'd assumed to sleep in his sock drawer and shed all over it again.

When he got up, she wasn't anywhere in his rooms. He opened every cupboard and drawer just to check, and she had definitely found some mysterious means of walking through two locked doors and a section of stone wall. And was gone. He was almost completely certain that Kneazles couldn't actually get lost, but it was a very large castle, and it was frosty outside, and he wasn't sure how Mrs Norris would feel about the intruder.

After he'd had two cups of tea and searched his rooms again, he gave in and scraped enough of her shed fur off his socks for a proper locating-charm. It was early enough that nobody was likely to see him making a fool of himself over a pet, and she was still very young and might have wandered off anywhere.

Not anywhere, as it turned out, but to Hermione Granger's bedroom. Worry evaporated in the heat of annoyance, and he was scowling when he knocked on the door. He and Hermione had talked too long and too freely last night, leaving him unable to drive her from his thoughts (and later, his dreams), and Akilah had clearly sneaked off to her on purpose to annoy him.

"I'm coming..." Hermione called, and a minute later she opened the door, yawning. "Oh, hello," she said, smiling up at him sleepily. "Looking for someone?"

For a second or two of eternity, he couldn't answer. Hermione was flushed with sleep, her hair hanging in a soft braid and her nightgown baring neck and collarbone to his eyes before gathering over her breasts and softly draping the heavy swell of her stomach. He had never seen her so beautiful, and he ached to reach out to her. "Yes," he managed, his voice somehow remaining quite level. "She and I had a disagreement last night, and she went off in a sulk."

Hermione laughed. "I thought that might be it. Crooks does that to me, too." She turned away, and the soft nape of her neck and smooth line of her shoulders struck him breathless and speechless again. She gathered Akilah up out of the tangle of blankets on her bed, cuddling the half-grown Kneazle tenderly. "Did you go off in a sulk and abandon him? That wasn't very nice, Aki, making him worry."

Akilah was purring as Hermione carried her back to the doorway, and Severus reached out for her mechanically. "It was my pillow," he said firmly, taking refuge in talking to the Kneazle because he didn't dare even look Hermione in the eye just yet. "I will not apologize for removing you from it." Akilah stopped purring and gave him a disgusted look. "I will buy you your own pillow," he conceded, and was rewarded with a resumption of the purring.

"Crooks and I had that argument." Hermione smiled up at him. "I was the one who wound up getting a new pillow. But you're much stronger willed than I am."

His strong will moved him to finish the conversation politely and somehow get back to his rooms without losing his composure. There he dropped Akilah on a chair and glared at her. "You did that on purpose," he accused. Akilah washed her paws, pointedly ignoring him. "You took me there to... to see her, then, this morning, on purpose!"

He'd wanted nothing more than to gather her into his arms. He knew she wasn't beautiful, she never had been, but to his eyes there could have been no-one more so when she opened that door. With a heartfelt groan he slumped into the chair at his desk, and buried his head in his hands. After a moment, a small weight with tiny paws slid up into his lap, and a wet nose was pushed inquisitively against his chin. Mechanically, he lowered a hand to stroke her. "I am a fool," he whispered, and Akilah nuzzled his cheek consolingly. "I am a sentimental idiot who should hate her for the liberties she has taken with my life and my person, and instead I am as besotted with her as any other sad, lonely middle-aged man could be with a lovely young girl I have no right to yearn for."

Akilah purred, rubbing her face against his, and he closed his eyes tightly. _I love her. I want her. And I must never let her know, because I'd rather throw myself in the lake and drown than have her pity me._


	22. Chapter 22: Family

**Chapter 22: Family**

* * *

"Harry, this is a stupid plan."

Hermione had dragged herself up four flights of stairs to utter those words, and her being out of breath robbed them a little of their force. She glared at him, leaning against a convenient and friendly wall and wondering whether pretending to swoon - or really swooning - would be helpful.

"So is trying to get up all those stairs by yourself," Ron said sternly, tucking a hand under her elbow to keep her steady. "I thought we discussed you doing stairs on your own, after Filch had to rescue you."

"Well, there wasn't anyone to help me, was there?" Hermione gave him and Harry both reproachful looks. "Because you were up here, doing your 'dawn duelling practice' to flush out someone who you know is trying to kill at least one of us."

It was the sort of plan Harry did come up with. Someone was trying to kill him. Ergo, he would make it easier for them to do so by making sure everyone knew that he and Ron would be in a certain place, every morning, more or less alone, where they could be nobbled with ease and convenience for all concerned. Hermione strongly disapproved of the plan, and suspected they had picked a tiny paved area tucked into a corner of the castle roofs solely because they knew it was going to be almost impossible for her to get there.

"It's going to work. Give it time." Harry looked at his watch and sighed. "Not now, though. What with you sneaking up here, and Ginny's only just gone - she was trying to talk us out of it too - and it's nearly breakfast-time. We might as well go down now and get first go at the sausages."

"Fine." Hermione winced, rubbing the small of her back. It was twinging more than usual, after all the stairs, and her overstrained stomach-muscles hurt too. She was just under two weeks short of her due date, and the day simply could not come fast enough. She was so big now that if she didn't lean back when she stood or walked, she'd tip over forwards. "Then you can both help me down the stairs."

"Of course." Ron nodded, as Harry slung his bag over his shoulder and took Hermione's other elbow. "You know, you really shouldn't keep rushing around to classes, Hermione... You could take a few days off no problem, you're already miles ahead as usual..."

"I'll have to take a few days off when I have him. That's bad _enough_, without missing extra time. We have our N.E.W.T.s right around the corner, Ron, and I know you know that because I wrote up a study timetable for you."

"I know, I know, and I'm doing it. Honestly." Ron lifted her bodily over a trick step and grunted. "I think you've doubled in weight."

"He said, with his usual tact and discretion," Harry said, rolling his eyes. "Never tell a woman she's heavy, Ron, even you should know that."

"Well, there wasn't anything to her to start with." Ron grinned reminiscently. "I used to be able to lift her with one hand."

Hermione blushed. He actually had lifted her with one hand once, but it hadn't been the sort of interlude they should be discussing with Harry. "Yes, well, I _feel_ as big as a house," she said, wincing as her back twinged again. "I can't wait for this to be over."

"You do look ready," Harry said, clearly trying to be tactful and not actually use words like 'whale', 'house', or 'explode'. "Another few weeks, right?"

"Two. Although it could be as long as four." Hermione shuddered. "Wizards apparently frown on inducing labour, because it's generally held that forcing a baby to be born before it's ready can inhibit magical development later and neither of you has any idea what I'm talking about."

"We're willing to be supportive, encouraging, and to let you hit us if you like while you're in labour," Ron said cheerfully. "But don't expect us to know anything about the process, because we don't, and frankly I never intend to. If I'm ever a dad, I'm going to hold her hand and let her scream at me and that's it."

"I feel very sorry for her, then. And I'll tell her to order you to watch the whole thing on pain of having to sleep on the couch for the rest of your life." Hermione rolled her eyes. "Not that I'm having either of you in there, so you needn't worry. Ginny's going to be there, and Madam Pomfrey, and you two can wait outside somewhere until it's all done and I'm ready for you to go on at great length about how beautiful my baby is."

Harry and Ron both looked distinctly relieved. "Well, we would if you _wanted_ us to," Harry said earnestly. "If it would make you feel better."

"I'm going to have enough to worry about without you two," Hermione said, giving his arm an affectionate squeeze. "But thank you."

"You're welcome." Harry smiled. "We'll guard the door or something, just in case."

"You do that." Guarding a door - preferably the one at the bottom of the stairs to the hospital wing, not the top - should keep them adequately safe and out of her hair while she and Ginny were otherwise occupied.

"With our very lives." Ron stopped suddenly. "Oh, bugger... forgot my Transfiguration homework, it's still under my pillow. Harry, you get Hermione down to breakfast, I'll catch up."

"Under your pillow?" Hermione looked at Harry for some sort of confirmation, as Ron hurried away. "Harry, why is..."

"It's part of his accelerated study program," Harry said, grinning a bit. "He's been sleeping with his homework under his pillow every night so it will soak into his brain while he sleeps."

"Oh, for pity's sake." Hermione sighed, covering her eyes with one hand. "Just tell me he hasn't been purchasing suspicious study aids..."

"Not that I've noticed. Of course, I can't watch him every minute." Harry helped her over another trick step. "But I don't think he'd bother. Exams are important, I know, but we could honestly fail everything and still get accepted into Auror training after the war and all."

"Yeah." Unfortunately. Hermione had really hoped that, once they'd been in an actual war, they'd settle down to some safer occupation like professional Quidditch or alligator dentistry. "Uhm... Harry? Can I ask you something?"

"Of course. Anything."

"Will you be the baby's godfather?" Hermione hurried on nervously. "I know we talked about it before, but it wasn't really decided, and I've thought about it and I'd really like you to be."

"Really?" Harry went pink and looked immensely pleased. "I mean... I'd like that. You know. If you're sure."

"I'm sure. On the understanding that if anything happens to me when he's really little, my parents will look after him, because you don't know anything about babies."

"That's true." Harry nodded. "I... thanks, Hermione."

Hermione leaned over and hugged him tightly, pretending not to notice the quiet sniffle against the top of her head. "Well, I love you. And I always wanted an annoying little brother of my own."

"Aw." He squeezed her tightly for a moment. "I love you too. You know that. And I'll be a good godfather, I promise. No noisy toys or making him sick with too many sweets."

"Good." Hermione rubbed his back gently before letting go. "You can start by getting me and the baby some breakfast."

* * *

Severus picked aimlessly at his food, his head down, surreptitiously peering at the Gryffindor table. Potter was being more than usually solicitous of Hermione, and she kept touching him on arm or shoulder, or leaning companionably against him. If it hadn't been for the indulgent expression on Ginny Weasley's face, Severus wouldn't have been able to restrain himself from hexing the boy.

The strain of pretending that nothing had changed was wearing on him. It would be easier if he spent less time with Hermione, but he couldn't bring himself to sacrifice a single moment of the time he had left with her. Every hour with her was a draught of poisoned wine that he savoured even as the pain grew worse.

She would give birth soon. Poppy had suggested to him - in confidence - that the child was likely to come early, and asked him to ready certain potions just in case. He had ruined two batches by being distracted with worry for Hermione's safety, but all was now ready. Soon his son or daughter would be born.

"Severus?"

He didn't jump, but only because he'd trained himself not to. "Yes, Minerva?" Reluctantly, he looked away from his usual close scrutiny of Hermione's plate. (It was important for her health and the child's that she ate well.)

"You're playing with your food instead of eating it again." Minerva leaned across Sinistra's chair, looking concerned. "You haven't been eating well lately... are you quite well?"

Severus scowled. Minerva knew - after all these years, she damned well should - that the tenser he got, the less he was able to eat. He would have to start having breakfast later, after she left, so she couldn't see how much he wasn't eating. "Perfectly well, Minerva. Thank you for your concern."

"Hmp." She gave him a look that indicated that he wasn't fooling her, and went back to her own breakfast. Her opening salvo of concern had been fired... the true attack would come when he was unprepared. "Tonks will need to speak to Miss Bulstrude and Mr Baddock today. Miss Edgecombe's trial has been scheduled for this weekend, in deference to the fact that all the major witnesses have classes to attend, and some of them N.E.W.T.s coming up as well."

Ah. The other reason for his vile mood this morning. Severus looked down the table and sneered a little at the sight of Lupin mooning happily over the young Auror, who was currently sporting bright blue hair and a soppy smile. It galled that Lupin could happily parade his much younger lover in front of all the school, while Severus himself would be tarred and feathered if word ever leaked out of his single involuntary indiscretion. "Of course, Minerva."

* * *

Potter was hanging all over Hermione this morning. Draco couldn't help noticing, and he scowled into his scrambled eggs. He couldn't hate Hermione for not loving him - her heart had been given long before he'd started noticing her, and she'd never known that he cared. And he couldn't hate Severus, because... well, there were too many reasons to count there. But he was miserable and he wanted to hate someone, and Potter was always a good target.

So was Lupin. Nymphadora was sitting at the teachers' table for some reason, and Lupin kept sneaking soppy looks at her when he thought nobody was looking. He was probably holding her hand under the table as well. Draco had written to his mother as soon as Hermione had told him about _that_ unfortunate entanglement - not only had Narcissa not known, but when questioned, Andromeda had admitted that she and Ted had never actually met the man. Ted had made a tactless comment about werewolves the first time Nymphadora had mentioned the new boyfriend (Muggle-born or not, Ted was clearly a sensible man), and Lupin had never been brought up again.

Still. Her lamentable taste in men aside, Nymphadora was his cousin. The only one he had, or was likely to. It would be nice to get to know her a little, and he had an excuse he'd prepared earlier...

She left the Great Hall by the teacher's entrance, but Draco had long ago found the shortcut that crossed that particular hallway, and was in plenty of time to intercept her. With Lupin following her like a puppy, naturally. "Good morning, Nymphadora."

She blinked at him. "Hi, Draco. Did you want to talk to me about something?"

"Yes." Draco stared pointedly at Lupin.

Lupin cleared his throat, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. "Er... I should go get ready for my first class. I'll see you later, Tonks."

"Of course." She watched him go, and turned back to Draco with a reproachful look. "I don't get to see him often, you know."

"You've only ever seen _me_ once, and I'm family."

"Yeah. Good point." She did look penitent at that. "But you've been either at St Mungo's or in school since your mum and my mum started talking again."

"Mostly." Draco nodded, examining her face. She was a Metamorphmagus, of course, but at least for the moment she definitely looked like a Black. Pointed chin, pale skin, the large dark eyes that Bellatrix and Andromeda had shared, aristocratically straight nose... "But there are some issues of inheritance that we should discuss."

Nymphadora blinked. "What inheritance?"

"Aunt Bellatrix's assets all went to Mother when she died. Since Sirius Black and your mother were both disowned, Mother and I are officially the only surviving heirs to the Ancient and Noble House of Black, and all the fortunes thereof, excluding the house and decaying elf that Black managed to palm off on Harry Potter. Since my father's death, all the Malfoy fortunes, except the portion settled on my mother, have also passed to me." Draco shrugged. "Mother and I have been discussing granting your mother the one-third share of the Black fortunes that she would have been entitled to if she hadn't run off with what Grandmother used to call 'That horrible dirty man with the big nose'."

Nymphadora sniggered. "I always thought Mum's family called him worse things than that."

"Oh, they did, but Grandmother prided herself on her refinement. Never did a coarse word pass her lips... at least, not in public." Draco smirked. "I wanted to ask you if your mother would be offended if Mother made the offer. It's only the inheritance she would have had if her parents had been more reasonable, not charity of any kind."

"It's... well, I'm not sure, but she might be all right with it." Nymphadora nodded slowly. "I mean, what with the Malfoy fortunes as well, it's not as if you and Aunt Narcissa are going to need it."

"I doubt I'd even notice it was missing." Draco nodded. "And Mother would feel better, I think, if she could buy Aunt Andromeda's forgiveness instead of getting it for free."

"That's awful, Draco." Nymphadora grinned and shook her head. "I know what you mean, though. This way she wouldn't have to feel obligated to Mum for talking to her again."

"Exactly. She's a Slytherin. We're trained early on to get nervous when someone does something nice for us and doesn't seem to be getting anything out of it themselves." Draco's grin was almost identical to hers, something that pleased him. It made her seem more like real family. "Just out of curiosity, what were you?"

She grinned, touching her hair. "Isn't it obvious? Ravenclaw, like Dad."

"Ah. Of course." Draco nodded. "I always wondered how a Muggle-born managed to secure one of the Black sisters. Dazzled her with his intellect, right?"

"That and putting something he called an Emperor's New Clothes Spell on the Gryffindor Quidditch Team." Nymphadora smiled proudly. "They beat Slytherin to the championship, then the minute they touched the ground all their clothes turned invisible. They still got the Quidditch Cup, but Mum says it was almost worth it to watch them screaming and running for the change-rooms, clutching their brooms in an attempt to hide their... inadequacies. It was an all-male team that year, or she might have thought it was less cute."

Draco laughed until he had to lean back against the wall. "Oh, that would definitely have done it. I wish I knew that spell!"

"I'll just bet you do." Nymphadora sniggered. "He wouldn't teach it to me while I was at school, no matter how hard I begged. He said if he did Professor Dumbledore would remember whose mum and dad were there the last time it happened and catch me."

"Probably. But it would have been worth it." The mental image of Potter and Weasley dashing frantically for the change-rooms with hands strategically clamped to groins was one he would treasure. If only he could make the humiliating daydream reality.

"Oh, yeah." Nymphadora grinned. "I use it now, though, sometimes. Nothing slows a criminal down like suddenly being naked."

"I can imagine." Draco snickered. "I like the sound of your dad. I can certainly see why Aunt Andromeda fancied him."

"Yeah," she said, looking proud. "He was a real scoundrel at school, according to her. But a funny, good-natured sort of scoundrel who laughed a lot. Mum always said there wasn't much fun in the Black household, and she likes a good laugh herself."

The Malfoy household hadn't exactly been a barrel of laughs, either, and Draco's sympathy for his Aunt Andromeda rose. Yes, Ted Tonks was a Muggle-born, but a clever, devious Muggle-born who liked to laugh. He could see the appeal. "Well, if you think it wouldn't offend her, I'll suggest to Mother that she brings it up. Phrasing it as restitution for past injustice rather than an attempt to buy Aunt Andromeda off, naturally."

"Naturally. And Mum is pleased that they're speaking again, honestly."

"So am I. It's helped Mother a lot." Draco smiled, and was smiled at in return. He could be quite fond of his cousin, he thought, Auror or not. "And I'm glad I finally got to speak to you, Nymphadora."

She looked pained. "Tonks. I hate Nymphadora."

"Really?"

"Merlin, yes." Tonks winced. "Do you have any idea what a name like that can do to you at school? 'Niffy' was about the nicest nickname I had. And I couldn't even shorten it, because 'Dora' is horrible too."

"I see your point. All right, Tonks. But it's not very dignified."

"It's better than the alternative." Tonks looked at her watch. "And don't you have a class to get to?"

"Damn. Yes." Draco rolled his eyes. "Defence Against The Dark Arts. No offence intended to your... ah... friend, but it's incredibly dull. I'm a Malfoy; I knew most of the hexes and counter-hexes he's teaching us now before my voice broke. And used most of them during the war, too."

"He has mentioned the problems with that. Either he teaches what half the class already knows, or he leaves the other half hopelessly behind." Tonks nodded. "At least you know you'll pass your N.E.W.T, right?"

"With my eyes closed and my remaining hand tied behind my back, yes. But I should at least make an appearance in class, or he'll get all flustered." And then try to be stern, and Lupin trying to be authoritative was a pitiful sight. "It was... nice... to talk to you, Tonks."

"You too." She smiled at him. "We'll catch up, once you're out of here, all right?"

"I'd like that." For the first time in a long time, Hermione was far from his mind as he hurried to a class they shared.

* * *

Hermione winced, as her stomach cramped again. Ron leaned over, with a concerned expression. "You okay?" he whispered loudly.

"Fine." Hermione directed her reassuring smile somewhere between Ron's worried expression and Professor Lupin's inquiring one. "My back hurts, that's all."

"Okay." Ron went back to doodling on his parchment. As hard as she tried, Hermione just couldn't convince either him or herself that he should be taking notes. They'd learned most of what Lupin was covering now in the DA, and even Ron had memorized it all by now.

Surreptitiously, Hermione looked at her watch, and felt a little bubble of excitement start to build. That crampy pain was suspiciously regular. Of course, it could be just Braxton-Hicks contractions, and she shouldn't get her hopes up, but it didn't feel like of the occasional cramps or twinges that she'd had before...

She tried to take notes, more out of a desire to support Professor Lupin than anything else. The fact that more than half the seventh-year class rarely paid attention didn't make his job any easier, surely, and even if she wasn't a prefect anymore she should set a good example. The notes got harder and harder to concentrate on, though. _Eight minutes apart._

"Are you sure you're okay?" Harry asked, managing a much more surreptitious whisper than Ron.

"Fine." If this _wasn't_ real, she didn't want anyone to know. And even if it was, it would go on for hours and hours yet. No need to make a fuss. "It's just getting really uncomfortable to sit for a whole double lesson."

"Oh. Yeah, I can imagine." Harry winced, looking down at the bulge that was causing her to sit significantly back from her desk. "Do you need to get up and walk around a bit? I don't think Remus would mind."

"Professor Lupin while we're in class, Harry. And no, I'm fine."

Harry nodded, and went back to drawing snakes on the margins of his parchment. Or perhaps they were just squiggles, since Harry had never progressed beyond stick-figures, and stick-figure snakes _were_ just squiggles when you thought about it...

Hermione forced herself to concentrate again on the lecture. She was getting really easily distracted, for some reason. Was it too soon for this? Should she be worried that it was too early? Thirty-seven weeks - thirty-six and a half, really - _was_ early. On the other hand, she wasn't very big, she was still in her teens and it was her first baby. Those factors often meant babies came a little early, and Madam Pomfrey had warned her that it might happen. She'd also said that the baby would probably be perfectly all right; he was big and well-developed, for his age, and some babies _were_ just ready that little bit earlier or later. Besides, it might still be Braxton-Hicks contractions. Even if they were unusually regular.

"Hermione?"

"I'm fine!" Harry was looking at her funny. "What?"

"The bell just went. Usually you're already dashing for the toilets by now."

"Oh. Right." Hermione gathered up her books hastily. "I was... thinking about something else."

"I could tell. Give me your bag." Harry shook his head. "You want me to walk you up to Arithmancy?"

"No, I'll be fine. Draco is going that way, I'm sure he wouldn't mind -" Another contraction, and Hermione's knees buckled. She grabbed hastily for the desk, gritting her teeth. "Gn... I'm _fine_, honestly."

"That doesn't look like fine to me," Ron said, giving her a worried look. "That looks like you breaking your word."

Hermione stared at him. "Like me breaking my... what?"

"You said you wouldn't have the baby in class, Hermione. You _promised_ you wouldn't."

Bugger. She had, too. "Er... well, I'm not having it right _now_ or anything..."

"I knew it!" Ron raised his voice. "Re- Professor Lupin! Hermione's starting to have the baby now!"

"Hermione?" Remus took her arm gently. A bit too gently... if Ron hadn't helpfully grabbed her other arm she would have tipped over again. Hermione silently vowed never to complain about Keepers and their too-tight grabbing ever again. "Hermione, are you in labour?"

"Well... maybe. It's a bit early to be sure." Hermione blushed. Everyone in the class was whispering, staring at her, or both. Mostly both. "I'll be fine to go to Arithmancy, honestly, the early stages take hours and hours, and I'm not even sure if I am yet. It could be false labour, there's really no way to know this soon..."

"Even so, I think we'd better get you to the hospital wing, just to be sure. Harry, you'll look after Hermione's things, won't you?"

"I'll bring them with me." Harry beamed. "She said that me and Ron could wait outside."

"Yeah." Ron brightened. "We'll have to miss a few classes, but this is a once in a lifetime event!"

"I'm just an excuse to get out of Potions to you," Hermione said, poking him. "Fine, if you want to be helpful, go and find Ginny. She's going to help me. And Harry, you go drop off that bag in my room and get the blue one that's in the cradle."

"Right!"

"We'll be right there!"

Both boys dashed off, and Hermione leaned a bit more heavily on Lupin's arm, which gave slightly before he stiffened up. "Draco, you have Arithmancy next, don't you? Would you tell Professor Vector that Hermione won't be in class today?"

"Of course." Draco looked worried, and Hermione tried to smile encouragingly at him. He'd been a little more distant since he and Crabbe started speaking again, but he was still a friend. "Do you need help getting to the hospital wing? I'd be happy to -"

"No, no, I can manage." Lupin smiled at him, but Hermione didn't think it looked terribly sincere. "All of you, get going to your next class."

Before they were halfway to the hospital wing, Hermione was wishing desperately that Draco had come with them. Or that she'd kept one of the boys. Lupin just didn't have the knack of supporting her the way they did, and her last contraction had been intense enough that she'd had to drop his arm and grab for the sturdier and more reliable wall. "Nnngh..."

"What is going on here?"

She'd never been so happy to see Severus. Ever. Not even at the victory celebration where the baby had been conceived. She tried to smile at him, but it came out as more of a grimace.

"Hermione is in labour," Lupin said, reaching over to pat Hermione's shoulder gently. "We're going up to the hospital wing now."

"Ah. I should have realised that you were on the way to the hospital wing merely from the fact that she is leaning on a wall, you are standing there ineffectually, and neither of you is actually moving." His sneer really was a wonderful, observant sneer. She'd never appreciated it so much.

Lupin straightened up, frowning. "If she wants to pause while she has a contraction, Severus -"

"Then you should be supporting her, not standing there like one of her idiot friends waiting to be given instructions." Severus made an impatient noise, and Hermione found herself being scooped up in his arms and cradled securely against his chest. She put her arms around his neck and rested her head on his shoulder with a little sigh. "I will take Miss Granger up to the hospital wing. You may follow along uselessly if you wish."

Hermione giggled very quietly as he turned and stalked away. Over his shoulder, she could see Professor Lupin looking angry and embarrassed... but not following. Hah. Teach him to not be any help. "Thank you," she murmured, holding on just a tiny bit tighter.

"I have no desire to see you tumble down the stairs and break yourself because Lupin can't maintain a grip on you." He sounded grumpy, but he was holding her very securely against him. "Are you really in labour, or is he just getting over-excited?"

"I think I am. I've had a few false contractions before, and this feels... different. It's higher up, and sort of... well, it's hard to describe, but it's not the same. And they're much more regular."

"How long have you been having them?"

"Since just after breakfast." He snorted, and she blushed. "And yes, I went to class anyway, but I honestly wasn't sure. The aching and twinging and cramping has hardly stopped for weeks. It took a while before I realised this was different."

"I see. And did you then alert someone, or try to go to Arithmancy anyway?"

"I tried to go to Arithmancy," she mumbled, hiding her face against his neck. He smelled a lot better than she remembered. More herbs, less smoke. "But honestly, first-stage labour takes practically forever. I could have gone."

"Hmph." Was he holding her just a fraction tighter? "Foolish, but you knew that."

"Yes, I did." Hermione snuggled just a tiny bit, hoping he wouldn't notice. "I'd have felt so silly if I made a fuss and it turned out not to be the real thing, though."

"Even so." His voice sounded a little strained, and he didn't speak again. He didn't loosen his grip, though, and she enjoyed being in his arms while it lasted. All too soon, they were at the hospital wing and he was lowering her onto a bed as Madam Pomfrey hurried over. "Miss Granger appears to be in first-stage labour, Poppy."

Madam Pomfrey muttered a charm, waving her wand over Hermione's stomach. A short plume of orange smoke shot out of the end of the wand and the matron nodded. "Oh, yes... have your waters broken yet?"

"Not yet." Hermione cupped her hands over her stomach. "It's really now?"

"Oh, yes." Madam Pomfrey smiled encouragingly. "The baby is on his way. Thank you for bringing Miss Granger up, Severus," she added. "I can take it from here."

"Thank you," Hermione said softly, and Severus looked at her for a long, inscrutable moment before nodding and turning away. Hermione's eyes stung as he walked away, and she had to stifle an irrational urge to call him back. His son or daughter was about to be born, he should _be_ there...

"Now," Madam Pomfrey said cheerfully. "Let's get you out of those robes and into something more suitable."


	23. Chapter 23: Birth

**Chapter 23: Birth**

* * *

"I had no idea having a baby was so athletic." Ginny adjusted her grip on Hermione's elbow, holding her steady as she waited out another contraction. "Why all the walking around?"

"Walking during early labour relaxes and warms the muscles, maintains blood-flow, and allows gravity to assist in easing the baby downward." Madam Pomfrey was holding Hermione's other elbow. They were both doing a much better job than Lupin.

She straightened up, wincing. At least she wasn't wearing a stupid hospital gown or anything. Madam Pomfrey had provided a comfortable, sack-like shift that covered her to elbows and knees, but could easily be hitched up later when necessary. "It's also supposed to make the later stages easier and less painful, and I'm all in favour of that. How long has it been?"

Ginny looked at her watch. "Nearly an hour since you started walking. Is it working?"

"If by 'working' you mean 'are the contractions getting stronger' then yes. Definitely yes. Thank God I had a good night's sleep, this feels like it's taking forever."

"It's going to be a while yet." The midwife - a nice, motherly-looking lady who had introduced herself as Stella - nodded approvingly as Hermione started her slow shuffle around the hospital wing again. "Poppy will get you an Invigorating Draught if you get too exhausted during the delivery, but let's see how long we can manage without one, shall we?"

"We will if we stop getting talked to like we're five," Hermione whispered very quietly. Ginny snickered.

* * *

"I can't walk anymore."

"Just a little more -"

"My knees won't go! Look, they won't stay up!"

"You weigh a _ton_, Hermione. Let her lie down, Stella, I can't hold her up forever."

"All right... onto the bed, now, good girl. Ginny, make sure she's propped up comfortably. She needs to sit, not lie flat."

* * *

Severus had gotten through the day's classes through sheer habit. He had taught every class dozens of times, he didn't need to concentrate to recite the appropriate lessons and detect any deviations from the requisite actions.

Somewhere above him, his son or daughter was being born. Born early, too. What if something was wrong with the child? Or the mother? How long would it be until he found out? One hour? Two?

He could go up there. He could claim his place as the child's father and support Hermione through the birth. She would allow it. And then...

Then he'd be sacked, most likely; Hermione would be horribly shamed in front of all her friends; and the child would have to live with the stigma of being the child of a former Death Eater, the Greasy Git, the man who had inspired near robe-widdling terror in hundreds of children over the years.

No.

His third-year class suffered for that realization, several of them fleeing the classroom in tears at the end of the lesson. Good. That left him free to pace, and wonder what was happening in the hospital wing.

* * *

"_Nnngh!_"

"Hermione, you okay?"

"Yes. That feels... different. Is it supposed to start feeling different?"

"Final stage, dear. He's almost with us now."

* * *

"Does having babies always take this long?" Harry and Ron had given up standing to attention in front of the door after the first two hours, and were now sitting in front of it, playing chess.

"I don't know." Ron made a move, then nibbled thoughtfully on a thumbnail. "How long's it been now? My watch has stopped."

Harry looked at his. "Nearly ten hours." If it hadn't been for Dilly bringing them regular piles of food and a chess set - she was apparently quite keen on Hermione being guarded - they'd have been really incredibly bored by now.

"Wow. If I'm ever a dad, I'm bringing a book or something."

* * *

"One more... just one more... that's it... there!" There was a thin wail, and Stella held up a small, sticky pink form. "Congratulations, Hermione. You have a son."

Hermione managed to sit up just a little more, watching anxiously as Ginny wiped the baby mostly clean and wrapped him in the blanket her parents had sent. "I want to see him."

"Here." Ginny smiled, tucking the little bundle into Hermione's arms. "He's beautiful."

He was beautiful. He had a tuft of dark hair, a little squashed face, and a tiny button nose. As she cuddled him, he stopped wailing and his eyes opened. They were an odd, murky greenish-brown, and they stared up at her in a puzzled sort of way.

Hermione kissed his sticky forehead gently. "Hello."

* * *

The door banged open and Harry jumped up, chess forgotten. Ron lurched to his feet too, wincing and rubbing his knees, as Ginny leaned out of the door. She looked tired and there was a smear of something reddish-brown on her cheek, but she was beaming. "The baby's here, and it's a boy! Come and see!"

Harry felt an odd lurching in his stomach, and he frowned a little as he followed Ginny up the stairs. He was a godfather. Hermione was a mother. He had a little sort-of family to be part of.

He should definitely be feeling happier. Shouldn't he?

If Ginny looked tired, Hermione looked exhausted. She was smiling, though, and cuddling a bundle against her chest. "He's asleep," she whispered. "Come and see."

Harry followed Ron over to the bed. Ron immediately started making gurgling noises. Harry looked curiously at the baby. He was very small and red, with a weirdly squashed face. He looked like an alien, actually, with bulgy eyes and a domed head. Not really all that cute.

"Isn't he beautiful?" Hermione was gazing at the baby alien with a besotted expression. "His name's Martin."

"He's adorable," Ron agreed, as Martin's eyes opened. (A weird muddy colour. Weren't new babies supposed to have blue eyes?) "Hey, he's looking at me! Oooji-ooji-oo! He likes me!"

"Of course he likes you." Hermione chuckled wearily. "Martin, the noisy red one is your Uncle Ron, and the one with glasses is your Uncle Harry."

"Hi." Harry leaned over so that the muddy eyes could take him in. Martin looked puzzled, as if he didn't think much of Harry. "He's... really cute, Hermione. He's going to have your eyes." That was the sort of thing you said, right?

"And her hair. As soon as it got dry it started sticking right up, look." Ginny slid an arm around Harry's waist and he leaned against her, feeling a little better. "Ron, you're going to make him cry if you keep making those noises."

"But he's so cute! I changed my mind, I definitely want one of those someday." Ron patted one of the baby's bulgy cheeks. "Even if they do take forever to come out."

Ginny shuddered, and Harry tucked his arms around her. "They do, and it's _not_ nearly as miraculous as people make it sound. It takes ages and it's tiring and messy and painful."

"Very painful. But you've got bigger hips than me, Ginny, so it might not be so bad for you." Hermione winced. "Madam Pomfrey did about twelve different healing spells on me before I started feeling like my pelvis was the right shape again."

Ron had stopped gurgling and was looking a little green. Harry siezed gratefully on the chance to talk about something besides the weird-looking baby. "Couldn't Madam Pomfrey do a spell to make it not hurt?"

Hermione shook her head. "No... well, she could, but it would be counter-productive. Giving birth hurts because all the muscles are straining to push the baby out, and so on. She could numb it, but that'd be like... I don't know... numbing your legs before running a marathon. It wouldn't _hurt_ to run it, but you wouldn't win either, because you can't run properly if you can't feel your legs. Do you see what I mean?"

"Yeah, I guess so." Hermione looked different. Older. Maybe it was just because she was so tired, but when she looked down at the baby she seemed somehow very far away. "Uhm... you look really tired, Hermione. Should we go away and let you rest now?"

"That's a good idea." Hermione yawned. "I'm glad you're here, though. Both of you."

"We're glad too." Ron leaned over to kiss the top of her head. "You get some sleep. Bye-bye, Martin... we'll see you tomorrow!"

Harry gave Hermione a quick, awkward hug. "G'night."

"Night, Harry." Hermione smiled at him, and for a moment he felt better.

* * *

The child had been born five hours and forty-three minutes ago. A boy. Healthy. Adorable, according to Ginny Weasley.

It was now ten minutes past three in the morning. He'd been watching the clock for some time. The midwife had left. Poppy would surely be asleep. So would Hermione, presumably, after spending most of the day in labour. The corridors would be clear. If, during the course of his patrol, he just glanced in on the child, he would not be observed.

He made a brief pretence at patrolling before he gave up, with a quiet snort of self-disgust, and headed directly for the hospital wing. The desire to see the child was irrational and pointless. Since he would clearly get no rest until he had reassured himself that the boy was healthy, however, he might as well get it over with. Then he could get on with... things.

The hospital wing was dark and silent and he slipped between the beds as unremarked as any shadow. Hermione was in one of the private rooms tucked away at the end of the large infirmary, and he tapped the door-handle with his wand to ensure that it would open absolutely soundlessly. He opened it just a crack and froze, hearing a quiet murmur from inside.

"The outside world seems pretty big to you, I suppose," Hermione was murmuring. He looked through the crack to see her sitting up in bed with a fuzzy green bundle of blankets in her arms, and then looked away abruptly as he realised she was nursing. "Especially after how cramped up you've been for a while. But don't worry. I'll be right here, I promise." She cooed, shifting the baby a little. "And I won't be getting much sleep for a while, but that's okay. I've got a sling to put you in, so I can study while we cuddle. Mummy knows how to multi-task." She kept talking in that quiet, cooing tone, and he sneaked a glance at her. She had a loving expression on her face that made his stomach knot up with joy and jealousy. She loved the baby, was utterly absorbed by him, and he envied his son even as he was happy for him.

Long before he tired of watching, she shifted the baby in her arms, rearranging her nightgown and cuddling him against her shoulder. "There... ready to go back to sleep, sweetheart?" she said, and Severus thought he heard a faint coo from the child. Then Hermione looked up, as she leaned over to put the baby back in his cradle, and saw the open door. "Hello?"

He should have closed the door. He should have walked away. But she'd been eroding his self-control for too long, and he slipped into the room, closing the door silently behind him. "I..." What on earth could he say? "Are you... recovered?"

"Madam Pomfrey says I'll be all healed up by tomorrow, or the next day at the latest." Hermione shook her head, smiling. "It would take much, much longer the Muggle way." She looked down at the baby, and up at him. "He's perfect," she said, that tender note in her voice again, and then she smiled. "He looks like my father, I think. Would you... uhm... like to see him?"

"I... yes." There was no point in lying, she must know why he was here. "He's healthy enough, or so I hear." He moved closer, and she tilted the bundle towards him. He saw a little squashed, red face topped with a thick fuzz of dark hair, surrounded by pale-green blanket. The eyes were closed, the baby apparently fast asleep.

"He has brown eyes," Hermione said, brushing the tiny cheek lightly. "Isn't he beautiful?"

"He is... very small," Severus said quietly, half-lifting a hand and then forcing it back down to his side. He couldn't honestly say that his son was beautiful - he looked like a bald pink monkey - but he was tiny and helpless and vulnerable and he made his father's chest hurt with painful, complicated emotion. "Is it usual for a new baby to be that size?"

"He's a tiny bit smaller than usual, because he was born a bit early," Hermione said, gazing admiringly at her son. "But he's within the standard range of healthy birth-weights, even if it is near the bottom. Madam Pomfrey says he's in perfect health."

"Good." He found his hand lifting as if to reach out towards the child, and pushed it back down at his side quickly. "He doesn't resemble you. Or me. Fortunate, I suppose."

"He might favour either of us later. It's hard to tell with babies." Hermione looked amused. "Ron thought he was adorable. I think Harry thought he looked weird. He was trying to be polite, but he kept looking at him sort of... funny."

Severus scowled. His son might look a little pink and squashed, but that was no reason for Potter to be his usual rude, empty-headed self. He was supposed to be fond of Hermione, at least. "He looks like a perfectly ordinary baby, doesn't he? What's weird about that?"

"I don't think Harry's ever seen a newborn up close. He was probably expecting something cuter and chubbier." Hermione kissed her son's forehead gently. "Like the babies on television."

His son was far superior to the fat, stoned-looking babies Severus vaguely remembered seeing on television when young. He looked more alert even when sleeping in his mother's arms. "Perhaps I should feed Potter an Inflating Draught and some Dreamless Sleep and see how cute he thinks it is to look like a blancmange on drugs," he muttered.

Hermione laughed quietly. "That would be awfully difficult to explain to the Headmistress. However well-deserved."

Severus detected just a trace of annoyance, and smirked. As understanding as she was clearly trying to be, Hermione _was_ irked that Potter didn't think her baby was pretty. "I assure you, my connection to his... state would never be discovered."

"Given that the first person consulted after Madam Pomfrey made her diagnosis would be _you_..." She snickered quietly. "But no. He's just not used to the reality of babies yet." She cuddled her son, and then looked up at Severus with an oddly hopeful expression. "Would you... er... like to hold him?"

Severus drew back hastily. "I might drop him," he said, although he knew he wouldn't. Years of training himself to absolute surety of movement wouldn't fail him now. But he knew that holding the child, acknowledging him even in the privacy of this room, would be a very, very bad idea.

"You wouldn't drop him," Hermione said, lowering her eyes hastily. "But you don't have to. I just thought... uh... that you might like to."

She wanted him to hold the child. As was happening more and more often, he found the desire to make Hermione happy, even for a moment, overriding his habitual caution. "Very well. Give him to me." He mimicked the configuration of her arms with his own, and she settled the baby into them, resting the child's head on his upper arm and supporting the boy's body with his other hand.

The baby weighed barely more than Akilah. Severus stared down at the tiny face, absently cataloguing the faint scents that came to his nose. Lavender, presumably from the blanket, chamomile from the soothing lotion Poppy had asked him to make, an odd smell that he couldn't identify that might be left over from the birth... While he catalogued, trying to quantify the tiny, living weight in his arms in some way he could understand, the child's eyes opened. They were brown, just as Hermione had said... an oddly murky colour, somewhat greenish, but definitely brown. They stared up at Severus with quiet curiosity for a moment, and then closed again as the baby sighed and drifted back into sleep.

Severus had never seen such trust and drowsy contentment in any look directed at him. For a long moment Hermione was entirely forgotten as he cradled his son. Then he looked up at her, swallowing hard. _Let me acknowledge him. Let me be with both of you, love you both as you deserve, care for you... I don't know how but I want it so badly..._ He couldn't say it. She had offered him a place in her child's life, of her kindness, but not in hers. And to have one but not the other would be worse than being shut out entirely. "Have you chosen a name?"

"Yes. Martin Phillip Granger." Hermione reached out to twitch the blanket aside a little, revealing a tiny red fist that she stroked with the tip of her finger. "Martin for my grandfather, Phillip for my father." She smiled a little. "If he was a girl, he was going to be Katherine Jane, for my grandmother and my mother."

"A good name." Severus said quietly. Martin meant 'warrior', as he recalled, yet wasn't a militant-sounding name of itself... a well-chosen name for a child born of the aftermath of war and the celebration of peace. "Will your parents be coming here to see him?"

"Tomorrow. Professor McGonagall is arranging it." Hermione yawned, covering her mouth with her hand. "They're so excited, I've had two owls from them already."

"Then I will let you sleep." Carefully, he laid his son in the crib, tucking his blanket in around him. Martin sighed again in his sleep, his lips pursing a little as he turned his head.

"I probably should." She leaned back against her pillows, giving him a drowsy smile that made his heart ache anew. "Thank you for coming."

"Goodnight, Hermione," he said quietly, and slipped away before she could look at him that way again. His patrol forgotten, he headed for his rooms, there to lie sleepless until dawn.

A thin, furry figure slipped out from under one of the beds in the outer infirmary, and sat down to lick her paws thoughtfully. A fascinating development...

* * *

"Hermione!" The moment she was through the door, Jane Granger rushed over to her daughter, hugging her gently. "Oh, darling, I can't believe it!"

"Where's the new arrival?" Phillip asked, pulling a large blue teddy-bear out from under his arm. "There he is... nice workmanship on that cradle, Hermione, it looks antique."

"It is antique. The house-elves are a little fuzzy on time, but it's at least six hundred years old." Hermione wriggled out of her mother's arms and scooped her son up out of his cradle. "The contents, however, are brand new and less than one day old. Isn't he beautiful?"

Harry might have proven unsatisfactory, but her parents cooed and fussed as much as Hermione could have hoped for. They'd brought armloads of gifts - toys, little suits with feet, tiny vests, a woolly hat with ears and other such things- and she gave them a recounting of the other gifts so far recieved. "Mrs Weasley sent me about six teeny woolly jumpers, and a blanket for him, and a simply _enormous_ tin of fudge to keep my strength up."

"That was kind of her." Since it was Phillip's turn to have a hold of the baby, Jane had put her arms around Hermione instead. "She seems like a very nice lady."

"She really is, Mum." Hermione leaned happily against her mother's shoulder. "And I got the most appallingly overdone little baby-dress from Fleur and Bill, all over lace and bows and things. I know poor Bill had _nothing_ to do with picking that thing out."

Jane giggled. "When you were born, you were given at least a dozen pretty little crocheted matinee jackets, with ribbons and roses and all sorts of things. Every time I put you in one, you vomited on it."

"If Martin vomited on this, I wouldn't blame him one bit." Hermione shuddered. "Neville's gift was nice, he gave me some soothing lotion for Martin's skin, and Madam Pomfrey gave me a little kit with all sorts of remedies for the little day-to-day problems babies have. Runny noses, rashes, that sort of thing." She laughed suddenly. "But Mum, you should have seen Crookshanks's present!"

"Crookshanks? Your cat brought you a present?" Phillip looked up from gurgling at his grandson. "How'd he manage that?"

"I don't know how he got it up here, I really don't." Hermione snickered. "But he marched in that door just after I woke up, and he was dragging a dead rabbit that was as big as _he_ is, almost, and it was oozing blood on the floor, and oh, Dad, he looked so _proud_ of it!"

Jane and Phillip both laughed at that. "Bless him, I expect he thought he should provide for you while you're laid up," Jane said, smoothing her daughter's hair back gently. "What on earth did you do with it?"

"Dilly - she's the house-elf assigned to me and Martin - took it away. I'm going to have it for lunch." Hermione smiled, shaking her head ruefully. "I just couldn't turn it down, after he'd gone to so much trouble."

"Well, rabbit is quite nourishing, I believe," Jane said, looking a bit doubtful. "And it was very kind of him to bring it."

"It was. He's quite taken to Martin, fortunately. I can't imagine what I'd have done if he'd come over jealous." Hermione reached down to the end of the bed, where Crookshanks had curled up on Molly's baby-blanket and was adding orange fur to the yellow fluff. "Yes, you like the baby, don't you?"

Crooks purred briefly, then tucked his paw over his head and went back to sleep. "Looks like his hunting trip took it out of him." Phillip handed the baby to his wife, and gave Crookshanks a pat. "Thanks for taking care of her, Crooks."

Crookshanks twitched an ear in acknowledgment... then suddenly bolted upright and leaped off the bed, taking refuge behind the cradle. All three Grangers stared at him for a moment, and then the door banged open. "Hi, Hermione!" Ron bounced in, with an unusually subdued Harry close behind. "We brought you something for the baby!"

"It's just like Christmas, except that most of the presents are too small for me." Hermione laughed when she opened the bag Ron offered her - he'd gone back and bought the dreadful Chudley Cannons outfit. "Oh, Ron, he's too young for Quidditch!"

"You're never too young to have a team," Ron said, gazing affectionately at the baby being cooed at by his grandmother. "And you know bugger all about Quidditch, so obviously Harry and I have to teach him."

Phillip laughed. "I'll teach him about football, you teach him about Quidditch," he said, nodding approvingly. "Between us, we'll bring him up a sportsman."

"That's the sort of thing his dad should be doing," Jane said, with a scowl that sat oddly on her friendly face. "I can't believe he still hasn't come forward."

"Oh, Mum..." Hermione took her baby back, cuddling him protectively. "Don't start again, please?" Jane had been absolutely supportive of her daughter and delighted to be having a grandchild, but her comments about the father of said grandchild had been getting more and more pointed as the pregnancy went on.

"Well, he should be here!" Jane said, still scowling. "Here's this beautiful baby, no dad in sight..." She gave Ron a suspicious look. She'd always suspected Ron, since he had been the boyfriend at the time.

Ron blinked, and then shook his head. "Don't look at me," he said firmly. "Couldn't possibly be mine. He's not got red hair." He tugged at a lock of his own flaming hair for emphasis. "Absolutely everyone in my family's got red hair, and his is darker than Hermione's."

Jane looked at Martin again, and then nodded, clearly conceding that point. "I do wish you'd tell us who it is, dear." She touched Hermione's shoulder in a conciliatory way. "We'd keep it secret if you wanted us to, of course."

"You would not. You'd murder him." Hermione glared at both her parents as well as Ron and Harry. "All four of you. You'd kill him and then you'd revive him just so you could drag him up here and order him to treat me nicely in future."

"Well, yeah. Probably." Ron, at least, had the grace to look mildly embarrassed. "But he _deserves_ it, Hermione."

"He does not. You don't know anything about it." Martin whimpered, and Hermione occupied herself with untying the neck of her nightgown and tucking him into place. Harry turned around hastily, and Phillip looked away. Ron, having seen her breasts often and been quite fond of them, didn't bother. "He's _my_ son, that's what matters."

"But he shouldn't get away with this, Hermione." Harry was still facing the other way, but he sounded annoyed. "He shouldn't treat you and the baby like you don't exist."

"He hasn't." Hermione hugged Martin a little tighter. "This is for the best, for him and for me _and_ for Martin. It just... is."

"But Martin will want to know," Jane said. "It's not easy growing up without a dad, Hermione -"

"Yeah, and what if he looks like him?" Harry turned around, scowling. "What if someone works it out and Martin doesn't know, and -"

"Hey, I bet Mr and Mrs Granger would like a tour of the castle!" Ron said loudly. Everyone stared at him, and he rolled his eyes. "He said, tactfully hinting that perhaps Hermione's getting a bit upset and we should drop this now."

"Thanks, Ron," Hermione whispered, giving him a wobbly smile.

"Yeah, well..." He flapped his hands at Harry and Hermione's parents until they left, Jane looking guilty and Phillip a little annoyed. "I may not have been the best boyfriend ever, Hermione, but I did learn to tell when you're upset." He leaned down and kissed her cheek affectionately. "I'll march them around the castle a few times and give you and the baby some peace, yeah?"

"Yeah. Thanks." Hermione sniffed and kissed his cheek in return. "You really _weren't_ the best boyfriend ever, but you're doing pretty great as a friend."

"It's my best thing." Ron looked down and grinned. "I do miss those, though."

Hermione laughed. "You haven't been going short of breasts since we broke up, Ron, I know that for a fact."

"And I've liked them all very much, but yours were the first ones I ever saw up close and they have a special place in my heart." Ron laughed, retreating to the door as she brandished a pillow at him. "All right, all right, I'm going. You feel better. I won't let them talk about it anymore."

"But if you find out, you'll kill him."

"Not kill, as such. Rough up a bit, of course, but I won't actually _kill_ him if you don't want me to."

"I don't."

"Then I won't. I'll just hurt him."


	24. Chapter 24: Exposed

**Chapter 24: Exposed**

* * *

Minerva watched from the upper gallery as three cloaked figures ducked through the great double doors. Sleet was falling outside, and all three looked cold and damp.

"That was great!" Malcolm Baddock tugged off his cloak as soon as they entered the school, shaking the slush off it onto the floor with happy disregard for Mr Filch's rules. "All those Ministry people sitting there listening to _us_!"

"It was... satisfying." Millicent Bulstrode pushed her hood down, her short brown hair ruffled around her face as she frowned thoughtfully. "Mr Savage said he thought I could be in Magical Law Enforcement."

"Mr Savage was quite correct." Severus, too, had lowered his hood. He looked a bit pale and pinched - he'd never handled cold well, that was one of the reasons he was always so bundled up in heavy robes. At least, Minerva was fairly sure that was why. "I will arrange for suitable recommendations for you, Millicent, once you have finished your N.E.W.T.s."

The girl beamed, and Minerva noted that her unfortunate resemblance to her stolid-looking father was notably lessened when she smiled. "Thank you, sir!"

"Of course." Severus glanced up, and nodded slightly to Minerva. "Back to your common-room, both of you. Your housemates will be positively panting to hear all about your exciting adventures on the right side of a criminal investigation."

"Yeah! And Cliodhna and Walter will want to know how my speech went. They helped me practice." Baddock bounced away, still chattering. "I think it went down really well, don't you, Millie? I thought I struck just the right note with the Innocent Indignation approach, especially the bit about the baby..."

Severus watched them go, then glided up the steps to join Minerva. "They both performed very well. Miss Edgecombe has been consigned to Azkaban for ten years. Leniency on account of her youth, you understand."

"I see." Marietta Edgecombe would have to be watched when she was released, something Severus had no doubt already considered. She blamed Hermione for her troubles, and ten years in Azkaban weren't likely to sweeten her disposition. "Well, I suppose it's best over. The Wizengamot accepted Miss Granger's excuses, then?"

"Having given birth two days ago was accepted as a valid excuse for a failure to appear, yes." Severus smirked. "Dolores was most disappointed at missing such a perfect chance to embarrass her in public."

Minerva chuckled. "Dear Dolores never did like Miss Granger, did she?"

"Dear Dolores doesn't like anyone cleverer than she is." Severus snorted, and Minerva concealed a smile. Severus was generally inclined to partisanship where former members of his own House were concerned, but he'd made a special exception for Dolores Umbridge. "Mr Baddock was very cheeky when she questioned him."

"For which you gave him a peppermint."

"Two."

"Good." Minerva nodded approvingly. There were times when points were not an appropriate reward for student behaviour, but sweets were always acceptable. "Since Miss Granger is still in the hospital wing, I assume your usual Saturday evening lesson in tactics is cancelled?"

"For today, yes." He frowned. "She should begin her practical work in Potions as soon as possible, though. Madam Pomfrey recommended a week off before resuming her classes, so perhaps next Saturday would be best."

"An excellent point. Since you aren't busy, then, I would like to discuss Miss Granger's situation with you." That was a trick she'd learned from Albus - make sure they aren't busy _before_ suggesting a little discussion. It cut down on last-minute excuses.

"An excellent imitation of our former Headmaster, Minerva," Severus said dryly, but he followed her up to her 'official' office... and then, looking a little surprised, up the stairs in the wall to her own private study. "A private conference? How... forward."

"None of your cheek, young man," Minerva said, returning his smirk with one of her own. "I'm old enough to be your grandmother... just."

"A fact nobody would believe, I am certain." He inclined his head - he really could be rather charming when he was relaxed. "You've never looked your age."

"Thank you." She smiled wryly. "Having a face like a hatchet has its drawbacks, but they do wear well, as I imagine you'll find out."

He looked startled again, and she nodded, turning to the cupboard where she kept her small supply of liquor. It wasn't exactly a flattering comparison, but he was more likely to accept it than an outright compliment. They both had high cheekbones and chins sharp enough to open a letter with, but that had never caused her any difficulty with the opposite sex. It was high time Severus stopped feeling sorry for himself and started making the most of his appearance.

She poured two small glasses of an old and rather fine brandy that she saved for special occasions, and offered him one. "Will you drink a toast with me, Severus?"

He raised an eyebrow, but took the glass and nodded. "Of course. To what?"

Minerva raised her glass. "To your son," she said quietly. "May he live long and well."

Severus went very still for a long moment, a statue of yellowed ivory swathed in black. Then he lifted the glass and drained it silently, Minerva following suit. He lowered his glass, she lowered hers, and they stared at each other. After much longer than most people lasted in the face of a McGonagall stare, he lowered his eyes. "How did you know?"

Not wasting her time on denials. Good. "I've suspected since Miss Granger was questioned by the Governors. She reacted... unexpectedly... to a particular question."

"I had hoped you hadn't noticed that." Severus inclined his head, smiling bitterly. "Too much to hope for, I suppose."

"Much too much. There have been other clues, once I began looking out for them." Minerva refilled his glass, and he didn't resist. "They were confirmed when you sneaked into the hospital wing at three in the morning to see him."

Severus scowled. "I take it that, had I looked, I would have found a tabby attempting to whistle a casual tune while lurking under one of the beds in the infirmary?"

Minerva couldn't help snickering a little at that mental image. "Don't be silly, Severus. Cats can't whistle."

"You were spying on me."

"Well, technically, I was spying on Miss Granger. The fact that I expected you to be the one to sneak in to see her is neither here nor there. I might have been wrong."

"But you weren't." He swirled the brandy in his glass, staring into it unseeingly. "What do you plan to do about the... situation?"

"If by that you mean am I planning to order you to retire and make an honest woman out of Miss Granger, as Albus certainly would have, then no." Minerva poured another brandy for herself, as well. She'd probably need it. "I would, however, like to hear your reasons for refusing to acknowledge your son. I can't imagine it's anything so simplistic as wanting to remain unattached and free of responsibility so you can chase young ladies unimpeded. You've never been particularly inclined to chasing ladies young or otherwise, so far as I have observed, and I can't imagine you're planning to take it up now."

He laughed quietly at that, a bitter little 'hah' with no real humour behind it. "No. No, I have never been known for my amorous conquests."

"That was my first assumption, of course, when Miss Granger first came to me and told me that she would not name her child's father. If it had been Mr Weasley, for example..."

"Then the assumption would probably have been accurate." Severus scowled. "You are aware of his behaviour while the two of them were involved?"

"Oh, yes. But since Miss Granger didn't seem to mind, I didn't think it my place to comment." Minerva shrugged. "So, since you aren't planning to take up athletic lechery as a hobby... why not admit that Martin is your son?"

"That is none of your business," Severus said flatly, finally looking her in the eye again. "Nor anyone's but my own and Miss Granger's."

"And Martin's." Minerva met his stare with one of her own. "He will want to know who his father is, and why that father did not want him. And he, at least, has the right to know."

"But you don't."

"No. I don't. And you're certainly under no obligation to answer my questions." Minerva sipped her brandy, savouring the rich burn. "I'm not Albus, Severus. I won't trick you or awe you into giving up your secrets. But I will keep them, if you should choose to tell them to me."

He looked away, tension radiating off him. Then his shoulders slumped, just a little, and Minerva let out a breath she hadn't intended to hold. Severus Snape had never been inclined to confide in anyone, even as a child. Albus had pushed him into confession regularly, after his return from Voldemort's clutches, and it had seemed to help as much as anything did. She had suspected that he missed it, and hoped that offering him that outlet again would be a temptation he couldn't resist. "I... have considered acknowledging him. Hermione left the choice to me. But both she and the child are better off if I stay anonymous."

Minerva snorted. Severus was inclined to gloom and self-pity - not that he didn't have plenty of reason for it - and she wasn't inclined to encourage his wallowing. "Stuff and nonsense. The child ought to know his father, and Hermione will need all the help she can get, with a new baby, exams, and a career to start."

Severus looked startled. Albus had probably never said 'stuff' during their little confessionals. "She is an attractive young woman," he said stiffly. "I doubt the child will remain fatherless forever. And her pushy little friends will doubtless give her far more help than she wants or needs."

Minerva frowned. She was quite certain that Hermione had no intention of seeking out another man, at least not now. She might, of course, at some later time. But for now she was eighteen and desperately in love, and having Martin would only strengthen her attachment to the baby's father. But was Severus suggesting it because he genuinely thought she _would_ move on, or just because he hoped she would? "And if she does? Would you really be content to entrust the welfare of your son to some stranger?"

Thin shoulders tensed, and Severus frowned. "I am confident that she would choose someone adequate to the task."

"Severus, the girl was seriously involved with Ronald Weasley. A nice lad, but hardly a promising guardian and provider." Severus tensed further, and Minerva sipped her brandy again. Underhanded, yes, but she knew Severus's tendency to believe that nobody could perform any given task to his exacting standards except himself. "Besides, it's far more likely that she'll attempt to do everything herself, excel simultaneously as a mother and a career woman, and work herself into a complete nervous breakdown the way she did in her third year."

His frown deepened. He did know about Hermione Granger's tendency to overdo, and Minerva had no intention of letting him conveniently forget about it. "Surely her friends and family would not permit her to drive herself to such a state," he said, the faintest hint of doubt weakening his abrupt tone.

"They've never stopped her before, I shouldn't imagine they'll start now." Trying to stop Hermione Granger from working herself to a wraith was a full-time job, as Minerva had learned while she was the girl's Head of House. "You may have plenty of good reasons for not wanting to be a father to wee Martin, Severus, but kindly do not give me rubbish like 'they're better off alone'."

"I didn't say they were better off alone," he said quietly, addressing his hands. "I said they were better off without me."

"Do you think so?"

He touched his left arm, a gesture that had long since passed through habit to become reflex. "I don't want my son tainted by association. Nor his mother."

Did he know that his voice had softened over the words 'my son', or that there was a sort of grieved tenderness in the eyes that lifted to hers? "You worry entirely too much about that, Severus," Minerva said, her voice stern to cover her own moment of sentiment. "Your heroism during the Final Battle-"

"Doesn't change the fact that I'm the man who killed Albus Dumbledore in the service of the Dark Lord. I can live with being spat at in the street, Minerva, but I won't have my son suffer the same." The cultured formality he'd carefully cultivated started to slip, the harsh Northern accent she remembered from his childhood starting to sound in his voice. "He's just a baby, Minerva, and Hermione's hardly more. If it was ever known that we'd..." He trailed off, a faint wash of red rising in his cheeks. "She'd be a pariah. I'll not have that for her."

Minerva still couldn't be sure how he felt about Hermione Granger, although she thought the girl's chances might be better than she knew. She was sure now, at least, that Severus Snape loved his son. "They might think a little distrust from those who know no better worth it," she said quietly. "To be a proper family."

He looked away, stricken, and she was reminded forcibly of the tense, unhappy little boy sitting in the front row not so very long ago. "Just... leave it, Minerva. Please."

She nodded. "Very well, Severus. If you wish it." Now wasn't the time to push further. Later, perhaps...

* * *

"You are late." Severus had been waiting for nearly fifteen minutes, and impatience sharpened his tone when Hermione finally entered the laboratory. Her appearance came as an added shock. He hadn't seen her in her uniform since Martin had been born, and she looked... different. No, she looked the same - the same as she had before she'd been pregnant. Presumably there were some physical changes involved, but the heavy, shapeless student robes hid them. She might have been sixth-year Hermione again, innocent and earnest.

Except for her hair. Her hair was still twisted into the fluffy knot that bared her neck and added a charming gravity to her appearance. "I'm sorry I'm late," she said, smiling up at him. "I had to feed Martin right before I left, and... well..."

"I see. Of course." He maintained his composure, but he was reminded far too clearly of seeing her cradling his son to her breast the night he was born. He'd had no idea he remembered it so very clearly. "Who is caring for the child while you're here?"

"About eight house-elves." Hermione smiled fondly. "They're all hovering over him and making gurgling noises. Dilly's trying to fend the others off and keep him to herself, but she's outnumbered."

Severus found himself smiling just a little at that mental image. "They do like children, or so I understand. They'll probably spoil him rotten."

"Probably. Still, at least they seem to know what to do about babies." Hermione frowned a little. "Ron gurgles at him a lot, but he runs away whenever there's a dirty nappy to see to, and Harry will hardly even hold him. I think maybe he's afraid of breaking him or something."

Severus frowned. Harry Potter was not generally concerned with the possible consequences of handling things. If anything, Severus would have been more worried about him accidentally dropping the child than failing to pick him up. Interesting. "Indeed. Since I assume you don't wish to be away from the child for long -"

"I should get back to him in two hours at most."

"Then we shall commence. As it takes over a month to brew, you will begin with Veritaserum. You have the choice of either the traditional formula, or the variant we discussed using wintergreen..."

* * *

"Harry, are you sure this is a good idea?" Ron had been grumbling ever since Harry dragged him out of bed for their early-morning practice session. "Can't we wait for someone to try to kill you somewhere with less stairs?"

"No, because then there'd be too many people around." Harry turned to glare at Ron, then felt guilty. Ron was wincing as he climbed the stairs - his legs were probably hurting again, and of course he hadn't mentioned it. "Look, we'll just give it a bit longer, and if it doesn't work, we'll try something else."

"Yeah. Great. They've tried, what, five times now?"

"Four." Aside from the scarf and the cursed paper butterfly, there'd been a box of chocolates with just one poisoned one hidden in the middle, and a curse laid on his Quidditch robes to make them try to strangle him when he put them on. Embarrassingly, the cursed robes might actually have worked if Ron and Peakes hadn't been there to pull them off him.

"You're not counting the rock?"

"That could have been an accident." A small chunk of stone had nearly fallen on his head as he entered the castle, but that did happen sometimes and it hadn't really been all that close.

"But it might not have been." They finally reached the landing below the last flight of stairs. "Right. Ready?"

Harry nodded. "Ready."

The unknown assassin liked traps. Harry had been fairly sure that he or she wouldn't be able to resist laying one somewhere where only Harry or his friends were ever likely to go. So every morning he and Ron cast every trap-detecting spell they knew. The traps generally weren't that subtle - if there was one there, they shouldn't have any trouble detecting it.

So far, there hadn't been so much as a rigged stair.

Harry wasn't really paying attention - he could cast the spells on automatic now - until a sudden flare of orange light caught his eye. "Ron! I think we found one!"

Inching up the stairs, he found a grey thread stretched across the third stair from the top. It was almost invisible against the stone, and only an inch above it. Much too low to trip on. Harry followed the thread to its end and winced. Stepping on the thread would have pulled the cork out of a bottle of something roiling and purple. He wasn't sure what it was called, but he'd seen a purple cloud a lot like that during the war, and those who'd been caught in it hadn't died quickly or cleanly. Clearly the unknown assassin was starting to get more serious or more desperate.

"Nasty." Ron leaned over his shoulder to look at the bottle. "Someone really wants to hurt you, Harry... or me. Have you noticed that he or she doesn't seem to care if they get you or someone close to you?"

"Yeah." That was why they'd opted to act as bait in a place Hermione had a lot of trouble getting to, and at a time when Ginny usually wasn't awake. "Right. Let's see if we can get anything off this."

No fingerprints, but that was no surprise. Anyone walking around the castle in the middle of the night in March would be wearing gloves. Careful not to touch it, Harry flicked his wand over the string. "_Repens Memoria_."

Tonks had taught him that one... a spell often used by Aurors, it conjured up a brief image of the last living thing to come into contact with an inanimate object. After a moment, he found himself sharing the step with a translucent bluish figure. A girl, maybe in third or fourth year, with hair that looked sort of dark... and then the image was gone.

Harry and Ron looked at each other. "Any idea who that was, Harry?"

"None." Harry shook his head. "That was... less help than I thought it was going to be."

"And you can't do that spell again, for the Heads of House to look at, right?" "No. It only works once." Harry scowled. "Damn. Now we're going to have to go around looking at all the third and fourth year girls in the whole school."

Ron rolled his eyes. "Great. Either we announce that we're looking for an attempted murderer and tip her off, or we look like perverts."

"No we won't." Harry grinned at him. "I have a girlfriend already, and everyone knows you're still chasing Susan Bones. Giving you more trouble than they usually do, is she?"

Ron's ears went red. "Shut up, Harry," he mumbled.

"Honestly, Ron, if your mum ever finds out the way you've been carrying on since you and Hermione broke up..."

"Shut _up_, Harry!"

* * *

Harry knocked cautiously, listening for sudden wailing. "Hermione? Can I come in?"

"Come in, Harry!" She sounded a bit more alert than she usually did before breakfast - the baby must have woken her early. Again.

Hermione was sitting by her small fireplace, with Martin in her arms as usual. She smiled brightly at Harry, though, seeming pleased to see him. "Did you finish your being-a-target practice early this morning?"

"No, it finally worked." Harry sprawled in the other chair, enjoying her startled, attentive look. "We found a trap set up there this morning. We left it unsprung, and Ron's fetching Remus to take a look at it. I thought I'd let you know that the plan worked."

"And gloat because I said it wouldn't." Hermione snorted. "Oh, very well... You-Know-Who it is, then?"

"Er... yes and no. I did the _Repens Memoria_, and I got a look at her, but it wasn't anyone I recognized."

"Oh dear," Hermione said a bit absently, wiping drool off her son's chin. She wasn't even looking at Harry. "Definitely a she, though?"

"Yeah. A student, probably third or fourth year. Maybe fifth." Harry scowled. "Not in Gryffindor, I've seen them about often enough to recognise them."

"So it could be a Ravenclaw, Hufflepuff, or Slytherin." Hermione joggled Martin, who waved a curled fist vaguely. "You'll just have to look at them all, I suppose."

"Yeah. Do you have any suggestion on how I get a good long look at three quarters of the fourteen-year-old girls in the school without looking like I'm trying to pick them up or tipping her off that I'm looking for her?" Harry scowled. She wasn't even _offering_ to help.

"Oh, that's easy," Hermione said, in her best know-it-all patronising tone. "Just get one of the teachers to cooperate, and drop in on the third and fourth year classes with a fake note for them. Then while they pretend to read it or write a reply, you look around the room. It'll look perfectly natural."

She hadn't even looked at him. Harry kicked absently at the carpet. "Yeah, I suppose that could work. You're going to be back in classes on Monday, right?"

"Oh, and it's going to be such a _relief_!" That sounded more like the old Hermione... fussy and a bit sharp. "I didn't want to take the time off, really, but Madam Pomfrey said it was important to bond properly before I started classes again. And I did manage to get all my homework done, at least." As usual, she managed to make finished homework sound like a narrowly averted catastrophe. "Have you and Ron been studying? And using the schedules I gave you?"

"Yes, Hermione, we've been studying." Harry grinned. "Not _totally_ sticking to the schedule, but given how basic our Defence classes have been, we thought we could put the time to better use on Transfiguration and Potions."

"Well..." He could tell that Hermione wanted to scold him for neglecting an important class, but knew quite well that he was right. She looked torn between fussing and approval. "As long as it _stays_ basic, I suppose you're right to spend more time on the subjects that challenge you the most..."

"Yeah. We're going to make you proud, I promise." Harry snickered. "Even if Ron's still sleeping with his homework under his pillow."

"Oh, for goodness' sake. He's so superstitious about studying, he always thinks there's some sort of trick to it instead of just working at it properly." Hermione's usual speech on the virtues of hard work was cut off by a grizzling noise from Martin, who immediately had her full attention. "He's hungry... Er, Harry, would you mind turning around?"

Harry leaped to his feet. "I should get to breakfast, anyway. Thanks for the suggestion, I'll see Remus about it as soon as I eat something. He'll play along." He could quite happily have gone his whole life without ever watching Hermione doing that, although he had a disturbing suspicion that Ron enjoyed it.

* * *

Fourth year, Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw. It was the third class Harry had visited today, and he had a routine now. Apologetic tap on the door, stroll over to the desk, handover of the 'note', then a slow scan of the room while Remus pretended to read it.

For a moment he thought it was another waste of time, then a girl in the third row lifted her head. She looked a little different in full colour, but he recognized her instantly. The same face, with the same eyes narrowed in intent concentration - eyes which lifted to focus on Harry's face before he could look away. For a split second her face twisted in pure loathing, and then their eyes met and her expression went blank. Did she know that he knew? "Remus," Harry said quietly. "We have a winner."

Remus looked up as the girl stood up, still staring at Harry. "It can't be..." Remus said softly, but Harry was already moving forward.

"Is there something you want to say to me?" he asked, sliding his hand into his pocket to grip his wand. "Like, I don't know, maybe you'd like to tell me why it is you want me dead?"

The girl looked up at him - she was around Hermione's size, now that he saw her closely. "No," she said mildly. "Not really."

Her wand was lying on the desk, and her hand flicked towards it. Harry reached out to grab her wrist, forcing her hand away from the wand with little effort - and then pain suddenly filled his world, and he looked down to see her other hand pressed against his stomach, clenched tightly around the handle of one of the standard silver knives from the student potions kit. The handle was the only part of the knife that wasn't buried in his stomach, and as he looked down in shock she twisted the knife hard. His knees buckled and he almost fell.

"Harry!" Someone was pulling the girl away, and someone else was clutching his shoulders and lowering him to the floor. He looked up into the worried face of Remus Lupin as his head started to spin. "Harry, don't worry, we'll get you to the hospital wing right away..."

The wound was burning, and his vision was getting blurry. It didn't feel right. "Remus," Harry said thickly. "Knife poisoned. Feels... poisoned. Bezoar in my pencil case, get it..."

And then everything went black.


	25. Chapter 25: Jealousy

**Chapter 25: Jealousy**

* * *

"... were it not for his fortunate, if peculiar, habit of carrying a bezoar with his spare quill and pencils, Mr Potter might not have reached the hospital wing in time to be treated." Harry drifted into dizzy wakefulness to the sound of Snape's voice. Hateful, yes, but reassuring to anyone who'd been poisoned and was now conscious again. "Miss Quirke's choices of simple and untraceable poisons were apparently designed to minimize her chances of being caught. She was clearly holding her most dangerous weapon in reserve in case of exposure."

"Anyone have any idea why she'd want to kill Harry?" That was Ron, sounding close. Probably beside the bed. Good old Ron.

"Not as yet. Professor Flitwick is looking into it."

"Another murderous Ravenclaw," Ron said, as Harry pried his eyes open and stared at the big blur that was the world without his glasses. There was an orange blur quite close to him, which was probably Ron's head. "I never would have suspected even one of them of cracking up, let alone two."

"Neither'd I," Harry said weakly. "Ron, where're my glasses?"

The orange blur moved away, then leaned over him and took his hand, putting his glasses into it. "There you go, mate... how do you feel?"

Harry considered the question for a moment as he fumbled his glasses into place. "Stoned."

For some reason, that actually made Snape laugh, albeit a bit sourly. "That's because you are, slightly. The bezoar cancelled the poison, but not the non-harmful side-effects. Since I can't give you the antidote with the poison partially cancelled out, you'll just have to wait for it to wear off. You will be restricted to bed rest for the next day or two."

"Oh. Good." Harry said vaguely. The bed was very comfortable, and the idea of spending a day or two recovering from being knifed was quite appealing. "She stabbed me."

"We know, mate, we saw." Ron smiled encouragingly at him. "Don't worry, she's been caught now. No more murder attempts... we hope."

"That's good. I was tired of getting up so early." Harry shifted experimentally. His stomach didn't hurt anymore, so presumably Madam Pomfrey had fixed him up. Good. Seeing your own intestines was always disturbing. "Who was she?"

"Orla Quirke, a fourth-year Ravenclaw." Snape was pouring something into a glass. Harry realised with some surprise that Snape looked tired. Where was all that vitriolic energy he usually had?

And why wasn't Hermione here, fussing at him for being careless? "Where's Hermione?"

"She was here for a bit, but Martin started crying and she thought she'd better take him away so he wouldn't wake you up." Ron patted his arm. "She'll be back in a bit."

Harry scowled. Surely Martin could have waited just until Harry woke up. "Oh."

Snape loomed over him, offering a glass full of something bright yellow and transparent. "Madam Pomfrey suggested that you take this. It will alleviate some of the symptoms of the poisoning and help you sleep."

"Harry wants to see Hermione before he goes back to sleep." Ron frowned. "He can drink it later."

"No, I'll drink it now." Harry took the glass and gulped down the contents. It wasn't nearly as vile as potions usually were... sort of lemon-and-honey-ish. "She's busy, anyway. I'll see her later."

Ron looked puzzled, but Harry ignored it, taking off his glasses and reducing Ron to an orange and pink blur. The potion took some of the dizziness away, and he slid gratefully into sleep.

* * *

"Hermione?" The soft call accompanied a quiet tap on her door. "Are you busy?"

"No, hold on just a minute!" Hermione laid Martin in his cradle, hastily buttoning her robes as she headed for the door. She didn't mind feeding Martin in front of Harry or Ron, who were family, but Draco... no. Definitely not. Just the thought made her face get hot.

Draco hadn't visited after Martin was born, and Hermione had been a little hurt. She was glad that he was getting on with his Slytherin friends again, but not so much so that she didn't mind being ignored. But when she opened the door, he smiled at her. "I'm sorry if this is a bad time - I heard that Potter finally caught his would-be assassin and got injured. Is he all right?"

"He's going to be fine, Madam Pomfrey says, although he'll have to stay in the hospital wing for a day or two." Hermione frowned. "If he hadn't insisted on apprehending her all alone, he'd have been perfectly all right."

"Well, that's Harry Potter. More courage than sense." Draco shook his head, grinning, and offered her a neatly wrapped package. "A gift for the baby."

"I... thank you. Come in." She smiled tentatively at him. "Would you like to see him?"

"Very much." Draco returned her smile. "I didn't want to intrude in his first week or so - that's traditionally a time for family, at least among pure-bloods. But now that you've had time to get used to each other, I thought you wouldn't mind having a friend or two drop in."

"Of course not." She closed the door and led him over to the cradle to admire. Martin was, thankfully, sleeping peacefully - he was adorable when he was happy or sleeping, but tended to look like a distraught beetroot when he cried. "There," she said proudly. "Isn't he beautiful?"

Draco nodded, gazing at the baby with an oddly wistful expression. "Very." He reached out to touch one of Martin's closed fists very gently. "What's it like, being a parent?"

Hermione considered the question. Draco was the first person to actually ask, and since he'd said 'parent' not 'mother', he was probably thinking about what it might be like to have one of his own. "Scary," she said, smoothing Martin's blanket gently. "It's such an incredible responsibility, having a baby. He's dependent on me for everything, and will be for years and years. And not just physically - I somehow have to raise him to be a stable, well-rounded human being, who's emotionally secure and socially functional. If he was always going to be small it'd be - well, I'd never sleep through the night again, but it would still be less frightening, in a way."

Draco nodded thoughtfully. "I suppose it would be. How _do_ you raise someone to be healthy and well-balanced and all that?"

"Nobody really knows. There are dozens of different theories - boosting self-esteem is big just now, but my parents still think that encouraging the child's natural talents in early life is the best way. You wouldn't believe how many classes I took when I was young. Dancing, music, singing, drawing... they were really hoping to find some sort of gift that would give me direction in later life. Then it turned out that I had magic and they were thrilled."

Draco laughed at that. "I always thought Muggle parents must be... I don't know... shocked and frightened when they found out."

"Oh, I'm sure some are. But mine were just delighted to have found my True Calling early enough for me to be properly trained for it." Hermione smiled fondly at the memory. "Honestly, though, there have been hundreds of theories on the proper way to raise children. They all go in and out of fashion, and it all boils down to the fact that nobody really _knows_... they just do their best and hope it all works out."

He nodded slowly. "That's not terribly reassuring. I'm not sure how good my best is going to be."

"I'm sure you'll do fine," Hermione said, wanting to be encouraging. "The fact that you're thinking about it at all is a good sign. I mean, Ron talks about wanting to have some, too, and I know for a fact that he's never given the slightest thought to how he's going to go about turning them into well-rounded little individuals."

Draco snickered. "I'm sure he hasn't. He never does think about things before he does them, anyone who's seen him play Quidditch knows that."

"If you say so." Hermione had never grasped the deep intricacies of Good Quidditch, and didn't care to try. "But I think you'd do quite well... although you'd probably spoil them dreadfully."

"Just like my mother, yes. I've been warned about that." Draco smiled fondly. "She's going to be even worse. Once she gets over feeling horribly old because she's a grandmother, she'll bury them up to their necks in gifts and then stuff them with sweets until they're spherical."

"It could be worse. Mine are already suggesting that when I finish my exams I really should get Martin involved in a Baby Yoga class, and start playing classical music to him to help expand his little mind." Hermione shook her head at Draco's bewildered look. "They're Muggle things, never mind. But I really don't think he's going to benefit from any classes until he learns to roll over on his own, at least."

"No, neither do I." Draco touched Martin's fist again, and Martin's eyes blinked open. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to wake him..."

"It's all right... he drifts in and out a lot. He'll be off again in a minute." Hermione leaned over to gather her son up in her arms. "Would you like to hold him?"

Draco looked down at his maimed arm and winced. "I'm not sure I could."

"Of course you can. Sit down on that chair." Draco sat, and Hermione dropped a large pillow on his lap. "This is how children do it - he's small enough that I think you could manage quite well, but this will be easier for a first attempt." She settled Martin on the pillow, resting against Draco's chest, and curled Draco's intact arm around him. "There."

Draco looked down at Martin with a startled expression. "Oh..." he said very quietly, cuddling the baby tentatively. Martin looked at him with interest, waving his fists aimlessly, and Draco swallowed hard. Hermione was startled to realise that he almost looked ready to burst into tears. "Hello," he whispered. "I've been looking forward to meeting you."

Martin made the little chirping noise that Hermione thought meant 'oh, look, the big face in the sky makes noises', and Draco hugged him gently. "It's not going to be easy for you," Draco observed, clearing his throat quietly. Hermione pretended not to notice. "Trying to raise him alone, I mean."

"No, it's not. But lots of women do it. Men, too, sometimes. Being a single parent is hard, but it's not fighting Voldemort. It's... doable." Hermione smiled, trying to look optimistic. "And I'll have help from my family."

Draco nodded, looking up and meeting her eyes with an odd, unreadable expression. "If there's ever anything I can do," he said softly. "Anything at all. You have only to ask."

"Thank you." Hermione nodded, and Draco looked down at Martin again. He looked sad and sort of yearning, as if he was looking at something he wanted desperately and couldn't have. He'd talked about having children, so it wasn't that he _couldn't_, and anyway magic could do a lot for infertility, so why...

Oh. Hermione bit her lip, realizing belatedly what it must be. Draco, like Severus, was a former Death Eater. He probably thought he shouldn't have children, because they'd be tainted by association; or maybe he thought nobody would ever want to have children with him, for that reason. And holding Martin and thinking he might never have that himself... She perched on the arm of the other chair, determined to let Draco have as long as he wanted with the baby.

It was a long time before Draco looked up, and gave her a wry little smile. "Thank you for being so patient. I've never actually held a baby before. It's been... nice."

"You're welcome." Hermione accepted the return of her son, cuddling him protectively. "And you are welcome, any time. I'm... we're friends, now, aren't we?"

"Yes. We're friends now." He rested a hand on her shoulder, looking into her eyes for a long moment. "Thank you, Hermione."

He went away, and Hermione found herself crying quietly as she rocked her son. There had been something inexplicably tragic in the way Draco had looked at her before he left, and she didn't know what to do to make it better, or even if it _could_ be made better.

When she finally remembered his gift and opened it, she found a pretty enamelled music-box that played a chiming lullaby.

* * *

Severus scrawled a 'D' on a fifth-year essay, but his heart wasn't really in it. He wanted to be down in his office with Hermione and a chessboard. And Martin. Instead, Poppy had coaxed him into working at her desk in the hospital wing, so he could keep an eye on Potter while she was gone. There was no telling where he might wander off to if he woke up in his current state of happy intoxication, and Severus was the only person besides herself who Poppy trusted to choose what potion to give him next.

He heard a rustle and looked up. Potter was sitting up in bed, pushing his glasses onto his face. That done, he looked around with a vague expression that really was rather amusing. He looked at the walls, the candles, the ceiling, Severus, the floor, his own feet, Severus, the ceiling again, and then he frowned. "Where's Madam Pomfrey?" he asked. For once, the boy didn't sound unpleasant or accusing when he spoke to Severus... just mildly curious.

"She's at St Mungo's with Miss Quirke." Severus found that he'd lost a lot of his own usual edge, as well. It was somehow more difficult to unleash his habitual vitriol on Potter when he was sitting there in his mauve pyjamas, blinking owlishly and looking as stoned as he obviously felt. "She asked me to watch you until she could return, just in case you took it into your head to wander off."

"I won't wander off." Potter lifted up his blanket and peered under it. "I mean, I can see that my knees are right here, but they don't feel like they're here. I shouldn't try going anywhere without them."

"No. That probably wouldn't be wise." Severus stifled a snicker. He really should hang about at the next Order gathering for longer than his usual brief appearance, just to see if Potter was as funny when drunk as he was when otherwise intoxicated.

"No, I didn't think so." Potter tucked his blanket back around him. "So why'd Quirke go to St Mungo's?"

"She attempted to poison herself after she was apprehended. She is out of danger, but her mental state is precarious and she will require constant supervision for some time." If he hadn't had his antidote kit actually in his pocket thanks to his dash to rescue Potter from his own stupid heroics - again - the girl might have succeeded. He had been relieved when Poppy had insisted on taking her to St Mungo's - if she'd wound up in Auror hands, she wouldn't have survived the week.

Potter blinked, appearing to be making some effort to think that all the way through. "Oh." More seemingly difficult thought. "Did she say why she was trying to kill me?"

"Yes. Shorn of adolescent dramatics, it was simple enough." Severus frowned at the parchment in front of him without really seeing it. The story was, unfortunately, not an uncommon one on either side. "Her family had served the Dark Lord as part of his spy network. Both her parents were pressed into active service for the final battle, when his forces became depleted, and were killed almost immediately. Her older sister, her only other immediate family, died when the Aurors stormed the house where the families of the Death Eaters were sheltered." He hadn't known that the parents had died, but Aurelia Quirke had fallen only a few feet from Gregory Goyle. He'd remembered the girl, and been grieved to see that shining potential sprawled empty-eyed on a soot-stained floor.

Potter winced. "Oh. I see." He sighed deeply. "Wow. I wasn't really expecting her to have a good reason. I mean, I thought it'd be something less... reasonable. You know?"

Severus turned his chair, fully facing the boy for the first time. "Nor did I expect you to acknowledge the validity of her reasoning." In his experience, Harry Potter's world was defined into two sides - his, the side of good, and evil, which was everyone who disagreed with or opposed him. Severus would have been willing to bet good money, until now, that the boy was incapable of thinking that anyone who was 'against' him was anything other than fundamentally evil.

Potter shrugged. "Well, that's why I killed Voldemort," he pointed out. "And I thought it was a pretty damn good reason. Of course, he killed my mum and dad personally, and I didn't actually kill Quirke's parents... I mean, I don't think I did. There was a lot of fighting, I suppose I could have hit them by mistake or something. But it's sort of fundamentally the same, isn't it?"

It was, of course. But Severus never would have expected him to see it. "Yes, it is. Fundamentally." He looked Potter over, noting the slight tilt to the left and the vague smile. "You're completely off your face, aren't you?"

Potter grinned. "I am not. I'm just feeling... sort of relaxed about everything. It all makes so much _sense_. You know?"

Ah. A secrets-of-the-universe type. Those were always entertaining. "If I'd known that poisoning you was the way to render you pleasantly reasonable, I'd have done it years ago." He was a little startled, then, to realise that he'd actually said that aloud.

Potter clearly found the statement highly amusing. "Well, it's not your fault," he said solemnly, when the giggling fit had passed. "You did try. People just kept interrupting you."

"Yes, I did try. You don't usually find the thought amusing, though." Potter was still smiling, and it made him look less like his father. The same features, still, but James Potter's smile had always been a little one-sided - charming, he'd heard it called, although he'd always thought it looked insincere. That wide, unselfconscious grin was all Lily, and it brightened her son's eyes the way it had hers.

"No. But it seems funny now. You could have done it any time you wanted, really, but you only really tried in class where nothing bad would really happen to me." Potter shrugged. "Hermione kept telling me that, but I didn't pay attention because I don't like you."

"In vino veritas," Severus murmured. "And in other forms of intoxication too, apparently. I am well aware that you don't like me, Mr Potter. Our mutual dislike is one of the few things we have in common."

"Yeah." Potter nodded thoughtfully. "You started it, though. So I don't know why Hermione keeps telling _me_ to be nicer to you. She should tell you."

"Hermione tells you to be nicer to me, does she?" He'd wondered what she told Potter about him, about the time they'd spent together. It warmed him, just a little, to know that she'd spoken in his defence.

"Yes." Potter scowled, looking away. "She used to. Now all she talks about is the baby. She doesn't pay attention to anyone else anymore."

Interesting. While Potter was feeling so communicative, he should find out more. "New mothers generally do, or so I am told."

"It's not fair." Potter actually pouted, looking even younger than usual. "She never pays any attention to me anymore. She's always fussing over him."

Severus had to force his eyebrows back down as they attempted to climb into his hairline. Potter was _jealous_. Of the baby. He hadn't anticipated that - probably nobody had. Perhaps even Potter himself didn't realise it. "Well, he is her son. It's only natural that she should put him first."

Potter sighed deeply, looking forlorn. "She likes him more than me," he said childishly, pulling his knees up to his chest and resting his chin on them. "Everyone has someone else except me."

It had never occurred to Severus that the boy might be lonely. He was always being fussed over by so many people, pandered to and fawned over... "There was a student in Bill Weasley's year at school," he said slowly. "Her parents had died when she was very young - not as young as you were, but young enough that she didn't remember them very well. She was brought up by her sister, who was much older. When she was in her third year, she started behaving... oddly."

"Really?" His pouting forgotten, Potter seemed absorbed in the story. "Why? What happened?"

"She had always been quiet. Suddenly she started getting into fights, sulking, that sort of thing. It took Pomona - she was a Hufflepuff - some time to work out what was wrong. Her sister had married when she was a first-year, and the girl had seemed quite happy about it at the time. But in her third year, the sister had a baby, and the girl was jealous."

Harry nodded slowly. "Because the baby was the sister's _real_ baby. Being a sister isn't the same. She knew the baby was more important."

"Precisely. She no longer came first with her sister - or, as she saw it, with anyone." Severus had heard the story in the staff-room, and had pretended not to be at all interested at the time. He had, however, been slightly less hard on the girl for a while. "She would, no doubt, have been delighted to be an aunt had her parents still been alive."

"But her sister was all she had." Potter looked thoughtful, wrapping his arms around his knees. "Hermione's sort of like that, for me," he said, clearly not expecting Severus to be able to make the connection on his own. "I mean, she's not my sister, and she didn't bring me up. But she's always looked after me. She's older than me, you know."

"By nearly a year." And several decades worth of maturity.

"Yeah. And she tries to keep me out of trouble. She always has." Potter sighed. "She's... always put me first, you know? Ron's family are more important to him than me, and they should be, really. And Ginny, too. And Mrs Weasley tries to look out for me, but she has seven real children of her own, and they do come first. And Professor Dumbledore had the whole wizarding world to worry about, and everything. Except for Sirius, Hermione is the only person who's always seemed to put _me_ first... she even cut visits to her parents short so she could keep an eye on me because she thinks I'm stupid and I'll get into trouble if she doesn't watch me. And now she's got a real baby of her own and I'm not as important to her." He rubbed his nose thoughtfully. "I never really thought about it like that before."

Severus nodded slowly, feeling rather foolish. He'd always simply assumed that Hermione had followed Potter around for the same reasons Weasley did - and now that he thought about it, he'd never really known what those were, either. Harry looked like James, and he'd assumed that the boy had attracted sycophants and trouble-makers in the same way his father had. But of course little girls did get ridiculously maternal at times, especially the fussy, managing ones like Hermione Granger. The much younger, orphaned Harry Potter must have been irresistible. "She's very like your mother, you know," he said abruptly, uncomfortable with the feeling that he owed Potter some sort of apology.

"Hermione is? Really?" Potter brightened suddenly. "I didn't know that."

"Oh, yes. Very much so. Stubborn, brave, clever..." Severus grinned just a little. "Shrill."

Potter blinked. "My mum was shrill?"

"She could have out-shrieked a harpy. Especially during a Quidditch match. She always got terribly over-excited at the Quidditch and screamed herself hoarse."

Potter hugged his knees, looking down at his feet. "I didn't know that. I don't know much about her. Mostly Remus and Sirius just talked about my dad."

"Did you ever ask about your mother?"

"No." Potter shrugged. "I just... I don't know. It's harder to talk about her."

Like every other adolescent boy in creation, apparently, the great Harry Potter got embarrassed over being fond of his mother. "She was pretty, of course, and popular. Hermione isn't. But otherwise they were very much alike. Very bossy. Very kind-hearted, underneath the fussing. Convinced that they're always right - and usually _being_ right, which makes it all the more irritating."

Potter smiled. "It does, doesn't it? It's nice, though, underneath. What else?"

"I didn't know Lily Evans well, you understand," Severus warned him. "I speak purely from observation. But she was as keen on homework as Hermione is, everyone knew that. She used to hit people with her pencil-case for disrupting classes. Once, when the pencil-case wasn't working, she threw an inkwell at your father and hit him on the ear. It was purple for a week."

Potter laughed. "He mucked around a lot in classes, didn't he?"

"Constantly. Mostly to get your mother's attention - he seemed to think that Lily Evans throwing things and swearing at him was better than Lily Evans unaware of his existence." Like most adolescent boys, Potter had been a total idiot when it came to girls. Severus hadn't exactly been a juvenile Lothario himself, but he'd at least worked out that annoying them wasn't a good start.

"Even Sirius said he was a total idiot when Mum was around." Potter nodded, and sighed a little. "I wish I remembered her. But... thanks. For telling me she was like Hermione. I sort of know how to imagine her now."

"I'm surprised Lupin never mentioned it." Of course, Lupin had never gotten along well with Lily. She'd been too bossy and strong-minded for the were-doormat's taste. "There's no physical resemblance, of course, but anyone who knew Lily Evans even in passing should be able to see the likeness in other respects."

"I never asked, really." Potter frowned, and gave Severus a rather accusing look. "And Hermione is too pretty."

Severus blinked. He hadn't expected that. "Do you think so?"

"She is. Especially when she smiles. She's not as beautiful as my mum was, but she is pretty." For the first time, Potter actually managed to sound very firm, despite his befuddled state. "So don't you say she isn't, because she is."

"Very well." The boy was full of surprises, this evening.

Potter yawned. "Can I have some more of that yellow potion? I think I should go back to sleep. I want to go talk to Hermione, and I can't do that at night."

"You will go nowhere until you are reacquainted with your knees." Severus poured the potion.

"Yeah, I know." Potter drank the potion and yawned again, pulling his glasses off. "But I think Hermione's been worried about me not liking Martin, 'cause I'm supposed to be his godfather and everything. I really should explain everything to her, now that I've got it all worked out."

"You're going to be his _what_?" All the self-control learned in years of spying couldn't keep that shocked exclamation back. Potter was already asleep, looking younger than ever and annoyingly serene.

Of all the people Hermione could have asked! What had she been thinking? Potter might be resigned to Martin's presence now, but when he found out Martin's true parentage he would...

If he found out.

Of course. Hermione had never expected Potter to find out, that was why she had asked him. She'd believed Severus when he'd said he didn't want anything to do with raising his son, and was taking steps to ensure that she could manage without him.

It was all very sensible. Just what he should have expected.

* * *

Severus pried an eye open and looked at the clock. Five-thirty in the morning. Four and a half luxurious hours of sleep between crawling into bed after Poppy had finally come back to relieve him, and the faint whistle that had just woken him.

He slid out of bed, careful not to jostle Akilah too much. The Kneazle opened her eyes briefly, gave him a disdainful look, and rolled over into the warm spot he'd left on the sheet. Pulling on his dressing gown, Severus stalked over to the door into his sitting room and yanked it open. "Draco, what are you doing here at this ungodly hour?"

"Making tea." Draco looked awful - even paler than usual, and with dark circles under his eyes. "I couldn't sleep."

"That's no reason to wake _me_ up." Severus resigned himself to wakefulness and conjured a second teapot for his black Ceylon. Delicate blends did nothing for him first thing in the morning. "What is it? You look like death warmed over."

"I went to see Hermione yesterday," Draco said, filling his mug with a particularly flowery-smelling tea. "She let me hold the baby."

"That was stupid." Severus knew from experience that it was stupid. He had held Martin only once, and had come within a hair of begging Hermione to let him take care of both of them forever. And unlike Draco, he didn't particularly like babies.

"I know." Draco sighed, rubbing his hand over his face. "I just... I don't know. I love her. Even knowing she doesn't love me, I can't just... stop feeling it."

Severus nodded, carefully schooling his own expression to show only weariness and understanding. "It tends not to go away, once present."

"Yeah." Draco added milk to his tea and sipped it. "And this is going to be so hard for her. Trying to take care of a baby while supporting them both - and I could help, I could make it all easy for her if she'd let me."

"You would ride in like a knight on a white horse and carry her off to luxury and freedom from care?" Severus frowned, swirling his own pot absently. He could do no such thing for her... he wasn't penniless, but he would be shortly if he wasn't working, and he could never in a dozen lifetimes command the kind of wealth and luxury that Draco could shower on her and on Martin.

"Except she doesn't want me to." Draco exhaled sharply, in what was almost a laugh. "Why am I doing this to myself? I knew it was hopeless right from the start, or I would have if I'd been thinking clearly. As soon as I found out about Martin, I should have known."

"Should have known what?" Severus asked sharply. He should never have let his guard down around the boy, he surely suspected...

Draco looked up from his contemplation of his tea, grey eyes sharp as they met black. "That someone else had taken her heart first."

Severus glared. "There is nothing between us, and never has been," he said sharply. "An error in judgement caused by too much mead, that is all."

"And if she hadn't thought it was an... error in judgement? Would you want her, if she cared for you?"

Severus looked away. Yes. Oh, yes. "No."

Seconds ticked by silently, then Draco exhale-laughed again. "I meant Martin. I should have known that, having decided to have the child, she would be devoted to him to the exclusion of all else."

Severus looked up, to find Draco watching him with unreadable eyes and a faint, sardonic smile. "Sometimes you remind me very much of your father."

"Sometimes I remind myself of him," Draco said, looking away in turn and setting his mug down. "I should go."

"Draco..." Severus already regretted the hurtful words.

"It's all right. I'm just... cranky. Lack of sleep, I suppose." Draco mustered up a half-convincing smile. "Same for you?"

"Yes."

"Then I'll go." Draco walked to the door, and then he turned, leaning against it. "Severus... when the year's over, and you get a couple of months away from the dunderheads, let's go somewhere. Travel for fun, instead of fleeing from everyone like we did before."

Taken aback by the sudden change of tack, Severus considered that suggestion. "Travel to where?"

"I don't know. Somewhere quiet. A little village in the mountains, somewhere where they've never heard of Voldemort. Where we can just be away from it all for a while."

Severus nodded slowly. "That sounds... tempting." He would have to leave the school, when Hermione was gone - memories of her filled every room, now, from his office to his classroom to the hospital wing. Travelling with Draco again would be far better than being alone. "Somewhere in Switzerland, maybe."

Draco laughed. "I should have known you'd want to go there. All those rare herbs and flowers."

"And quiet."

"Yes. And quiet." Draco rubbed his hand over his face again. "I could use some quiet."


	26. Chapter 26: The More Things Change

**Chapter 26: The More Things Change... **

* * *

Harry woke to a clear head and a drift of silky hair across his hand that he reached towards even before he was fully awake. He was sure he would have known Ginny's hair even in pitch darkness, by the smooth weight of it and the faint, flowery scent. "Gin?"

"Hey, look who's awake." Ginny smiled at him, putting down the book she'd had propped against his legs. She handed him his glasses and then leaned over to kiss him, and Harry hugged her tightly. "Don't scare me like that. I can't believe you were stupid enough to almost get killed by someone in the middle of a Defence class with your wand in your hand."

"Yeah, I know. It was dumb." Harry grinned sheepishly at her. "I'm sorry. She was just so... little."

"So is Hermione, and you know she could turn you inside out without breaking a sweat." Ginny gave him a reproving look and a kiss on the nose. "How are you feeling? Madam Pomfrey said you might be a little out of it."

"Heh. That's a polite way of putting it. I was sort of stoned for a while. Snape said -"

Harry's voice, and brain, skidded to a complete halt. Snape. He had talked to Snape late last night - well, sometime when it was dark, he wasn't sure when. They'd talked about Harry's mother, and Hermione, and...

"Harry? Are you okay? You've gone a little green." Ginny patted his cheek gently. "Want me to get Madam Pomfrey?"

"No. No, I'm fine." Harry swallowed hard. "I think I must have been hallucinating a bit last night. I thought Snape was here, and... yeah. That was really weird."

"Snape was here. He left a note for Madam Pomfrey saying that he'd given you more of that sleeping draught and you should be fine by morning." Ginny frowned. "Why'd you think you were hallucinating? Was he polite?"

"Well... yeah. Almost friendly." Harry sat up, rubbing his head as he tried to remember. "I was... well, you know how I am when I've been drinking?"

Ginny snickered. "The way you say absolutely everything that pops into your head and think it's all really funny?"

"Yeah." That was why Harry now tried to avoid drinking where anyone but his nearest and dearest would see him. "I was kind of like that, only with less slurring. I think with less slurring. He actually smiled a couple of times, so I think I must have been at least a bit funny."

"Wow. He smiled? At you?"

"Yeah. Well, not exactly _at_ me." Harry twined his fingers absently with hers. "He talked about my mum a bit."

"Really? What'd he say?" Ginny snuggled up, which always made him feel better and she knew it.

"That she was a lot like Hermione." Harry smiled at that thought. "And that she really liked Quidditch. She used to scream herself hoarse at every match. And she'd hit people with her pencil-case if they mucked around in class."

Ginny laughed. "Like Hermione, but louder. I like the sound of her."

"Yeah. Me too." Lily had always seemed like a soft, shadowy figure beside the trouble-making, outgoing James. Now the whole thing made more sense - including her outspoken defence of Snape himself. It was the sort of thing Hermione did, too. "It was weird. He was being so... not himself."

"Well, maybe it's because you weren't being yourself either. You're always really nasty to him, Harry. Maybe he was so surprised that you were being happy and giggly that he couldn't work up a good snipe."

Harry scowled. "You know, he was right about something else, too. Hermione's always right, and it's bloody annoying."

Ginny laughed. "Why, because she's always telling you to be politer to him?"

"Yeah. I think it actually worked." Harry almost wished it hadn't. He'd been so comfortable with Snape being a complete bastard, and suddenly it looked like he was only a bit of a bastard. That just wasn't fair. "He explained things and everything."

"He always explains things."

"Not to me, he doesn't."

"Well, you probably don't ask." Ginny sat up, crossing her legs and flicking her hair back over her shoulder. "He gets impatient if you don't get things right away, but he will explain if you ask. He and Hermione and I worked together a lot during the war, you know."

Harry stared at her in shock. "You sound like you like him," he said. It came out more accusing than he'd meant it to.

"I don't exactly _like_ him. He's a stroppy prick most of the time. But I respect him. I've seen him barking out orders for a retreat while he's pouring Blood-Replenishing Potion into someone, and throwing curses with his wand hand while he's holding someone's stomach together with the other. I may not like him as a person, but I'd follow him anywhere as a soldier." Ginny looked much more serious than she usually did. "And so would Hermione. She's better at healing charms than I am, and they did a lot of the casualty work together."

Harry frowned. "Why didn't you ever mention this before?"

"You wouldn't have listened." Ginny shrugged. "Didn't seem like there was much point."

Harry opened his mouth to retort, and then closed it again. Ginny didn't think Snape was so bad. Hermione actually seemed to almost like him. He had to admit that Hermione was usually right, especially when it came to people; whereas Harry had made several near-disastrous blunders in judgement. Tom Riddle, for example. Barty Crouch pretending to be Moody. He didn't like Snape. He would never like Snape. But maybe he should at least _try_ being civil. "There probably wouldn't have been," he said sheepishly. "He and I just don't like each other. But I'll be civil from now on, all right? He's... maybe not quite as bad as I thought."

Ginny blinked at him. "That's something I never thought I'd hear you say, Harry, honestly."

Harry grinned ruefully. "I think I've caught maturity off Hermione. She's been trying to infect me and Ron for years."

Ginny snickered at that. "Ron's immune, I think. But I've been seeing signs of you coming down with it for a while now."

"Ron just doesn't waste it on you. You're only a sister, he doesn't need to impress _you_."

* * *

Ron was getting worried. He was a bit hazy on anatomy in general, but he was fairly sure that Harry's behaviour shouldn't be affected by being knifed in the stomach. Maybe the poison hadn't worn off properly.

They'd been in Potions for over an hour now. Harry hadn't made a single muttered comment about Snape - in fact, he'd actually nodded politely when they came in and said 'Professor' without prompting. Ron had tried to surreptitiously check for signs of fever at that point, but Harry had beaten him off with a book.

Aside from that little scuffle, Harry had been working quietly and steadily, and was actually much further along than Ron, who had to keep stopping to stare at him in bewilderment. Harry being attentive and polite in Potions. Had the world gone mad?

Apparently it had, because Snape was being almost as weird. He'd returned Harry's nod with a brief one of his own, and proceeded to mostly ignore Harry for an unprecedented thirty-eight minutes by the clock on the wall. Then he'd made an only slightly caustic comment about Harry's inadequate addition of wormwood to his potion - and Harry had just nodded and put more in! And then Snape had gone away!

Either something was wrong, or one of them was possessed. Or both. It could definitely be both.

* * *

Ron had surreptitiously shoved a note into her hand as they went into the Defence classroom. Hermione had been puzzled when he did it, and entirely bewildered when she'd actually read it.

_Hermione _

_I think someone's put a spell on Snape and Harry, they were polite to each other right through potions. It was really weird. Please talk to Harry and find out what it is or I can try if you don't want to but, you're better at talking about things than me. If she's got time please could you ask Dilly to fix my lucky orange socks. I need them for the N.E.W.T.s. _

_Ron_

It was certainly a typically Ron note, including the indifferent punctuation and the bit about the socks. But the suggestion that Severus and Harry had actually been polite to each other indicated that either Ron was hallucinating or the other two had been replaced by Polyjuiced imposters.

Questioning Harry did seem like the best place to start, and she caught his eye as they were packing up their books. "Harry? Would you mind walking back to my room with me?"

There _was_ something different. Instead of looking awkward and remembering something he should be doing, which he'd been doing whenever she suggested he hold or visit Martin, he beamed. "Yeah, I'd like that. I wanted to talk to you about something."

As soon as they reached the privacy of her room, Hermione dropped her bag on the bed and turned to Harry. "All right... why have you been frightening Ron?"

Harry blinked at her. "Frightening Ron?"

"He said you were polite to Professor Snape in Potions today." Hermione had been a little relieved when Severus had announced that it would be too disruptive for her to rejoin the class now, and that in any case she was too far behind to follow the class schedule now. Facing each other across a classroom would have been more than a little uncomfortable. "He thinks there's something terribly wrong."

Harry snickered. "Yeah, he kept trying to feel my forehead. I'll explain it to him later." He wandered over to the cradle, where Martin was fast asleep with Dilly hovering over him. "Hermione? Can I hold him?"

Hermione usually went right to the baby and cuddled him for a while after being away at a class, but since this was the first time Harry had actually wanted to hold him... "Of course. Don't forget to support his head."

"I won't." Harry scooped Martin up a bit awkwardly, holding him against his chest. "Listen, I wanted to talk to you. I know I've been a bit... well... not exactly thrilled about Martin."

"I did sort of get that impression." Hermione frowned. "Harry, I'd understand if you don't want to be his godfather. It's a big responsibility -"

"No, I do want to. Well, I do now." Harry smiled down at the baby. "I was just... um... a bit jealous. And I didn't realise that was what it was until last night."

Hermione gave him a puzzled look. "Jealous?"

"Well, yeah." Harry sighed, sitting down in one of the small armchairs. "Hermione, you've been protecting me since our first year. You're always trying to get me out of trouble or keep me from getting into it. Every time we've had a big fight it's been because you were trying to protect me and I didn't want you to. Except for Sirius, you're the only person who's ever... I don't know. Put me first. Everyone else has their own family who's more important than me." He shrugged, going red with obvious embarrassment. "I never really thought about it. You were just... always there for me. And then you had Martin and I was jealous because he was more important to you than me."

"Oh, Harry..." Hermione sniffed, going over to sit on the arm of his chair and hug him tightly. "I had no idea. You know having Martin doesn't make me care about _you_ any less, don't you?"

Harry rested his head on her shoulder, making a little contented noise. "Yeah, I know that really. I just... I never had to _share_ you before. Ron was different."

Hermione nodded. "I understand. I really do."

"Good. Because it's not that I don't like Martin. And I do want to be his godfather. I just... you know. Had to think it through."

Hermione frowned. "How did you think it through, anyway? Self-examination isn't usually your favourite occupation."

Harry blushed again. "Well... last night Madam Pomfrey had to go to St Mungo's with Orla Quirke, the girl who tried to kill me, and she left Snape in the hospital wing to keep an eye on me if I woke up. And I did wake up, but I was a bit... out of it. You know what I'm like when I drink?"

"Oh dear." Hermione tried really hard not to grin, but she couldn't help it. "Did you giggle at him?"

"I explained to him that I couldn't get out of bed because while I could see that my knees were there, they didn't _feel_ like they were there, and I really didn't think I should try walking until they were completely with me." Harry grinned sheepishly. "And I told him that you'd been telling me for years that he wasn't really trying to poison me, but that I hadn't paid any attention to you because I don't like him."

"Oh, no..." Hermione covered her mouth with one hand, staring at Harry in horror. "What did he say?"

"He said something about intoxication, and that he knew quite well that I didn't like him and that our mutual dislike was one of the few things we had in common. He seemed to think it was kind of funny, though."

"Thank goodness." Hermione suppressed a shudder. If Martin's father and Martin's godfather had actually come to open conflict, the cat would have been out of the bag almost immediately. They were both inclined to blurt things out when they got angry.

"It was weird. I was being really earnest and dumb, the way I am when I'm out of it, and he was... well, he didn't call me stupid even once, and it would actually have been justified for once." Harry wrinkled his nose, absently jiggling Martin, who'd woken up and was making burbling noises. "I hate to admit it, but you were right about being civil to him. He does seem willing to do the same, even if we still don't like each other much."

"And that's why you were frightening Ron?"

"That's why we were frightening Ron." Harry grinned. "We seem to have a sort of unspoken truce for now. I don't like him, he doesn't like me, but we can behave like adults about it."

"Wonders never cease." Martin started to grizzle, and Hermione took him. "He's hungry. You can run away if you like."

"No, I won't run away." Harry looked away hastily. "I just won't look. It's... well, you're like a big sister to me. There are bits of you I'm not comfortable with seeing."

Hermione considered that, as she unbuttoned her robes and settled Martin into position, and winced. "Yeah, I can see your point. I wouldn't really want to see any of your bits and bobbles either."

Harry was resolutely facing the other way, but the tips of his ears were bright red. "Good, because you're never going to."

Hermione nobly refrained from telling him that Ginny had - against Hermione's will - already given her a fairly precise description. Very little embarrassed Ginny, and she'd felt the need to retaliate after the comment about Ron's nether regions during the carriage ride at the start of the year. "Would you and Ron like to have breakfast with me tomorrow? And Ginny too, of course. Dilly brings me mine, now, and I'm sure she could bring enough for all of us - although Ron's share might require a second trip."

* * *

Severus stormed down the corridor towards his office, fuming. Two hours. He had _two hours_ to play chess with Hermione, in all the week, now that most of the time he could spend with her was taken up by brewing. Only two hours in which he could look at her, talk to her, have her attention on him instead of mandrake roots or knarl quills.

Having a full twenty minutes out of that two hours taken up by a stupid, pointless scene in the Slytherin common room had had him on the point of simply resolving the situation by turning both combatants - as well as the girl they were arguing over - into toads. Especially since the disturbance had started before their scheduled meeting time. Hermione might not be there at all. She might have tired of waiting and left. He might have to wait another week. And there were so few weeks left before the N.E.W.T.s - if those lust-riddled adolescent idiots had cost him two hours of the time he had left with her, he really would turn them into toads.

He let out a long breath when he saw the light gleaming under his office door. She was still there. He hadn't missed it entirely. He had at least an hour and a half left. He took a precious minute to compose himself, then opened the door.

And stared for a long moment before turning hastily, backing up just enough to close the door and stare at it. "I do apologize, Miss Granger."

"I'm the one who should apologize." She sounded embarrassed, and he closed his eyes. Her hair was hanging down over one shoulder in a thick braid, and a fold of her robe had been drawn across to preserve modesty as she gazed down at their son with an intently tender expression. He could see it as clearly as if he was still looking at her. "I had Dilly bring him down when I saw your note, since it said you might be some time. And he started to cry, and... well. It only takes a minute."

"Of course." Severus swallowed hard. "I quite understand." He turned, careful not to look at her, and went to the tray on his desk. His hands trembled slightly as he poured a cup of tea for himself. "Would you care for some tea?"

"Yes, please." Hermione was moving around behind him and by the time he turned cautiously, tea in hand, her robes were buttoned once again. Martin had been tucked into a nest of blankets in what looked to Severus like a very small laundry basket with outsized handles, which was floating at about the same level as the table. "I can call Dilly to take him back to my room, if you'd prefer."

"That will not be necessary." He had never asked her to bring the child, carefully avoiding any expression of undue interest. Now that he had the chance to see his son, however, there was no point in wasting it. "He seems quiet enough."

"For now, anyway." Hermione smiled at her son, touching the edge of the basket and setting it to rocking gently. "You should hear him when he's unhappy. He sounds like a baby banshee."

"They all do, or so I'm told. He looks -" Severus broke off sharply, hearing the door behind him creak open. He turned to see the door stop only a few inches ajar, and looked down to see Akilah's striped face and light brown eyes. A little worried, he looked back at Hermione. "Are Kneazles to be trusted with babies?"

"Crooks likes him," Hermione said dubiously. "She probably just wants to see what the funny-smelling thing I brought with me is." Even so, she moved a little closer to her son, extending a hand to hover protectively over him.

Akilah ignored both of them, jumping up onto the chessboard so lightly that not a single chess piece shifted on its square. Standing on the edge, she extended a paw towards the floating basket, trying to pull it towards her. Patting it started it rocking again, but it remained otherwise steady. Akilah crouched, and before either of them could stop her, had jumped lightly onto the edge of the basket itself. She stared in apparent fascination at the baby, then turned to look over her shoulder at Severus. "Yes," Severus said quietly, feeling a little foolish but answering the unspoken question. "He is my son."

Akilah turned back to Martin, craning her neck to very gently nose the baby's cheek. Martin stirred, waving a tiny hand that hit Akilah across the ear. She didn't seem to object, although Hermione reached out hastily towards her. Instead she started to purr, carefully tucking herself in beside Martin and nuzzling him affectionately. "I think she likes him," Hermione said quietly, as Martin cooed and drifted back off to sleep.

"I believe she does." Severus reached out to smooth Akilah's fur lightly, his fingertips quite coincidentally brushing his son's small, furled fist. Then, belatedly, he realised that he was still holding Hermione's teacup and saucer, and he offered them to her. "Shall we begin?"

"We shall." She smiled at him, a smile as warm as any she might lavish on Potter or Weasley. "I'm feeling confident tonight. I might even take more than two or three of your pieces without you letting me."

"Perhaps." Maybe he could stretch the meeting out just a little, enough to make up those twenty lost minutes. If they managed to get a good game going...

They played in silence for a few minutes. Hermione had improved by leaps and bounds, and she was no longer the only one who had to weigh up her move before making it. He was wavering between a knight and an intrepid pawn when she spoke again. "You and Harry frightened Ron badly in Potions today. He said you were actually being polite to each other. He kept trying to feel Harry's forehead when you weren't looking."

Severus smirked. The bewildered, increasingly nervous expression on the Weasley boy's face had been greatly amusing, and quite worth the effort of being civil to Potter. Who had, to Severus's great surprise, behaved himself perfectly. Perhaps Hermione was right and the boy wasn't a _complete_ baboon. "I noticed. I am quite certain that Miss Patil now suspects him of harbouring a secret lust for Mr Potter, given how often he grabbed at him today."

Hermione laughed, covering her mouth with one hand. "Oh, dear. Harry explained to me that the two of you had reached a sort of... unspoken truce. After having a quite civil conversation."

"Yes." Severus would have been tempted to deny it and insist that Potter was delusional if anyone else had asked. But Hermione was fond of the boy, and she looked so pleased that Severus had been polite to him. "He is... entertaining when intoxicated."

"Oh, that he is." Hermione grinned impishly. "I've only ever seen him drink twice, and both times he talked very earnestly, at great length, about everything that came into his head. As far as I know, he's been too embarrassed ever to touch alcohol again since he announced in front of a number of people that Angelina had nice knockers but that Ginny's were better. Angelina and Ginny were both right there at the time."

Severus nearly choked on his tea. "And he survived?"

"Oh, yes. He was being so _sincere_ about it that they didn't have the heart to kill him. It was very funny, and he was absolutely mortified the next day." Hermione shook her head, smiling as she moved her pawn. "Even you didn't have the heart to be rude to him, and Ginny likes him a great deal more than you do."

"I admit, he was far less irritating than usual while intoxicated." He glanced at Hermione, who was leaning over to tuck the blanket closer around their son. "But you should be more worried about your bishop than your friend." He took it, smirking. "I do hope you've seen the danger you're now in."

"Honestly, you're as bad as Ron." But she smiled at him, and bent over the chess board again.

* * *

"And don't forget to put the lotion on that little rash," Hermione said, leaning over to kiss Martin's downy head. "Mummy will be back in a couple of hours, darling. Be good." He always was, and in any case couldn't understand a word she was saying yet, but it was good to talk to babies as much as possible, according to most of the books.

Martin burbled and Dilly beamed. "Dilly will not forget, Miss," she said brightly. "Enjoy your class, Miss."

"It's weird," Ginny said thoughtfully. "That doesn't look weird."

"It's weird that something doesn't look weird?" Ron had, as Hermione had predicted, eaten more breakfast than anyone else. He was still the first out of her door, seven sausages not having slowed him down even slightly. "How does that work?"

"Well, imagine, say, Lavender or Parkinson doing that. It'd look weird." Ginny followed Ron out of the room. Harry followed her, and Hermione gave Martin one more kiss and followed. "Hermione really looks like someone's mum, you know?"

"I'm going to take that as a compliment." Hermione grinned at Ginny, who returned it. "Even though I'm sure not everyone would."

"It was supposed to be one. Most girls your age can't pull off a proper mum attitude, but you're good at it. And-" Ginny cocked her head. "What was that?"

"Sounded like someone shouting 'Aha'. Come on." Ron led the way down the hall. Several members of staff had rooms on this floor, and the noise seemed to be coming from that corridor.

Rounding the last corner, they walked into what sounded like the end of a tirade. "... sneaking my cousin into the castle!" Draco Malfoy was shouting, with his wand out and his face pale pink with fury. "Treating her like some common tart!"

Draco Malfoy was confronting Professor Lupin, who was currently backed up against the door of his own rooms. Tonks, looking ready to die of embarrassment, was trying to sink into the stone of the wall beside him. She was wearing black robes that looked at a glance much like the student robes, and Hermione winced. Sneaking your girlfriend in and out of your room was a bad idea in and of itself. Sneaking her in and out disguised as a _student_... well, it was tasteless at the very least. That might be why Professors Vector and Hooch were doing nothing to intervene. Vector looked shocked, and Hooch very amused.

Lupin, obviously both furious and horribly embarrassed, drew himself up to his full height. "Mr Malfoy, this is none of your concern."

"None of my _concern_?" Draco's voice rose. "Her branch of the family might not have always gotten along with mine, but that doesn't mean I'm going to stand for anyone treating her so shabbily!"

"Why not?" Tonks asked, her hair as red as her face now. Draco gave her a startled look, and she scuffed at the floor with one foot. "I mean, we've only actually met a couple of times, it's not as if we've had a chance to get attached or anything."

"You're still _family_," Draco said, as if this should be obvious. "And nobody is going to behave as if a decent girl from _my_ family is some kind of Knockturn Alley whore to be smuggled in and smuggled out for one bloody obvious purpose!"

Lupin made an outraged noise. "I most certainly did not-"

"I smuggled _myself_ in, actually." Tonks looked even more embarrassed. "We don't get to see each other much during term, and... uh..."

"Then you should know better!" Draco brandished his wand at her. "You deserve better than someone who lets you sneak around and behave like a trollop for his benefit! And what are his intentions? Has he said? I know he bloody well hasn't said anything to your parents, he hasn't even _met_ them, I wrote to Mother and asked as soon as I found out about this!"

Tonks looked rather gobsmacked. Hermione thought she detected outrage at being called a trollop warring with gratification at Draco's obvious interest in her welfare. "I..."

"That is uncalled for!" Lupin stepped forward, clearly furious now. "Mr Malfoy, whatever my relationship with Nymphadora-"

"Relationship? This isn't a relationship, it's a surreptitious shag!" Draco sneered. "If it was a relationship, her mother would have _met_ you. I wouldn't have found out from Order gossip. If this was a _relationship_ you wouldn't be sneaking her out dressed like a student!" He gave Lupin a contemptuous look. "Unless you just like that sort of thing. She is a lot younger than you are."

Lupin snarled, his usually mild, inoffensive expression slipping rather badly. "One more filthy implication, Mr Malfoy, and you will have detention for a month."

"No." Draco pointed his wand directly at Lupin. "This is not a classroom. I suffer through your boring and elementary Defense against the Dark Arts classes with some degree of civility, because I know that they are a requirement and that you are owed some respect as their teacher. But here and now you are not a teacher, you are the man who is attempting to cover up the fact that he's been fucking my cousin in secret, without so much as publically acknowledging your relationship with her, and I owe you neither respect nor courtesy. As the only member of her family present, either you are going to state your intentions to me here and now or you and I will go outside and I will hex your damned balls off, _do you understand me_?"

"Hey!" Harry dropped his bag and stepped forward before Hermione could stop him. Drawing his wand, he moved forward until he was almost, not quite, between Lupin and Draco. "That's enough, Malfoy. Back off."

"Stay out of this, Potter."

"No. You can't just -"

Draco swung around to look at him. "Tell me, Potter," he said, and for the first time in the history of his confrontations with Harry, he actually sounded reasonable instead of vicious. "If you caught him sneaking Hermione out of that bedroom, not having told her parents or anyone else how they were carrying on, exactly what would you be doing right now?"

Harry paused, glancing back at Hermione. "That's... different."

"I'll concede that Tonks and I aren't close, but she's still family. And while Hermione wouldn't _be_ caught in this situation, because she'd hex anyone who tried to treat her like this, what would you do if she was?"

Harry glanced at Remus again - and while Hermione stared in surprise, he nodded slowly, lowering his wand and stepping back. "Yeah. Good point."

Draco nodded. "Weasley?"

Ron looked down at Ginny, then shrugged. "Do you see me with my wand out?"

"Do _I_ get any say in this, or is the stupid posturing for boys only?" Tonks asked, and her wand was in her hand now. "Draco, it's... bizarrely sweet that you're concerned with my virtue, but I'm perfectly capable of taking care of myself."

"But you're not, obviously. For some mysterious reason you actually seem to like him, and _he_ obviously thinks that because your father was Muggle-born, he doesn't think he has to treat you with the respect you merit," Draco said, giving Lupin a venomous look. "I'm not such a dedicated traditionalist that I'd insist on at least a betrothal or anything before you start carrying on -"

"I should bloody well hope not!" Tonks snorted.

"But I won't stand by and let you throw yourself away on someone who doesn't respect you enough to admit to being involved with you!" Draco actually poked Tonks in the sternum with the tip of his wand. "And unless he states his intentions, honourable or otherwise, I am going to take him outside, by force if I have to, and render the question academic."

Tonks glanced at Lupin, who looked miserable. "Draco, it's not that simple. He's a werewolf, remember?"

Draco looked from Tonks to Lupin and back again. "So? That means he can't have manners? My father was a mass-murdering psychopath and he had manners."

"That's debatable," Ginny muttered.

"Sh. He just didn't waste them on common people like us," Hermione murmured.

"It's not an issue of manners, Draco. If people knew... they wouldn't understand."

Draco raised an eyebrow. "Really." He turned to Lupin. "Is that your excuse, then? You're a werewolf, so you're excused from acknowledging the relationship because people won't _understand_?"

Lupin winced. "You don't know what it's like," he said, looking away.

"Of course I don't. I have no idea what it could possibly be like to be vilified for having a bloodline I didn't choose. Or to be suspected of being in league with the forces of bloody darkness no matter what I do to try to prove otherwise." Draco grabbed the front of Lupin's robes, dragging him forward and lifting the stump of his maimed arm between them so Lupin had to look at it. "_Oh, I have no fucking idea what that could be like!_"

Hooch finally moved to intervene, by the simple expident of grabbing each man by the shoulder and moving her hands apart. "That's enough, Malfoy. You want to get physical, you take it outside."

"Gladly." Draco glared at Lupin, shrugging his robes back into place. "Unless he's afraid."

"You think he's afraid of you?" Tonks asked, scowling.

"He should be. I could feed him his own ears with my remaining hand tied behind my back, and he knows it." Draco gave Lupin a dismissive look. "He's not actually bad at it, but he's not a real fighter. Either of the Creeveys could take him, including the one who only has half his face, let alone Potter or me."

"You think so?" Lupin was showing a great many teeth, and Hermione would have been willing to bet that his hackles were up.

"I've seen you fight." Draco shrugged. "You're good. You're just not as good as I am."

"He's right," Ginny said, and everyone turned to look at her. "Well, he is. I've fought with both of them. Draco's better."

"Which is a moot point, because they're not going to be fighting," Tonks said, folding her arms and glaring at both of them. "Draco, Remus and I will talk about this. A public announcement would have ramifications for my career, that's one of the reasons we've held off."

Draco nodded. "That's no reason for him not to at least meet your parents, but all right. You should discuss it between yourselves first."

"I'm so glad you agree." Tonks turned to Lupin, who quailed. "And Remus, Draco's right. I'm not going to sneak around anymore. And you're going to meet my parents, at the very least."

"We'll talk about this in private. Later," Lupin said, trying to sound firm. "The bell is going to go at any moment, and everyone needs to get to class."

"And I need to sneak out. I know. But we _will_ talk later." Tonks kissed him on the cheek, which made Lupin go crimson with embarrassment, and then commenced sneaking. The others scattered, Professor Vector dashing for the Arithmancy classroom with Hermione and Draco following her at a more sedate pace.

"Teachers aren't allowed overnight guests unless they're married," Draco muttered. "That rule's been in place since 1271. Just wait until McGonagall finds out about this."

"You're going to tell on him to the Headmistress as well as threatening and embarrassing him?" Hermione gave him a reproachful look. "Draco, that's going a bit far."

"It is not." Draco hitched his bag higher on his shoulder, frowning. "Lupin's inclined to let things slide until he's forced to deal with them, from what I've seen. So I'll force him to deal with them. And if he doesn't treat her well I really will duel him."

"Tonks is right." Hermione smiled at him. "That's bizarrely sweet."

Draco went faintly pink. "She's family. If you don't have family, you don't have anything. That was something Voldemort never understood about pure-bloods - family is _important_. You protect the bloodline as a whole, not just your own part of it."

"Family is important, and it's not just a pure-blood thing." Hermione nodded. Draco might still have his blind spots, but a desire to see one of his few living relatives happy and well-treated was a good thing. "And not just genetic family, either. I mean, if you don't have much in the way of family, you can always adopt them. Like me and Harry."

Draco tensed, and to Hermione's puzzlement the purpose seemed suddenly to drain out of him. He stopped walking, his head lowered and his face suddenly weary and sad. "Protecting the people who care about you, not just the ones you're related to."

"Well... yes. What's wrong?"

He shook his head. "Nothing. Family's just a bit of a... fraught... subject for me."

He changed the subject, then, and remembering his stricken expression, Hermione didn't have the heart to try to change it back.


	27. Chapter 27:The More They Stay The Same

**Chapter 27: ...The More They Stay The Same**

* * *

"Snape is evil. _Evil_," Ron moaned, dropping his head to the table with a quiet thunk. "Essays _now_. The man's a sadist. Doesn't he think we have enough to worry about with N.E.W.T.s? They're _next week_! He has to know that!"

"And this is his way of forcing us to study something he knows is going to be on the exam." Harry sighed, laying down his quill and flexing his cramped fingers. It was a lot more pleasant studying all together in the Gryffindor common room, the way they'd used to, but after three hours the warm fuzzy feelings had definitely faded. "You know, I think I'm starting to finally get the hang of Snape. He manages to be a total bastard while at the same time making sure we learn exactly what we need to. It's clever. A pain in the arse, but clever."

"I could live with him being a bit less clever and a bit more helpful," Ron grumbled. "He could have just said 'this'll be on the exam, learn it'. He doesn't need a two-foot essay on the subject."

"That's where the total bastard part comes in, yeah." Harry shook his head. Since he'd stopped writing Snape off in his head as 'mostly evil, should be watched', he'd actually started seeing the sense in the way the man behaved. He didn't like all of it, but he could see the logic now. "Hey, Hermione?"

"Yes, Harry, what is it?" Harry could only see the top of her head, as she was sitting behind the inevitable stacks of books and notes. Her voice had a high-pitched note in it that set off alarm-bells in Harry's head, though. That was Hermione's about-to-crack voice. "Just give me a minute, I'm almost finished with this."

Harry stood up so he could see over the books. Hermione had dark circles under her eyes, and her quill was scrabbling frantically across the page. No, now was not a good time to ask her to check his essay. "I think we could all use some fresh air," he said instead. "Especially you. Between Martin and studying, you've hardly been outside in the last two months."

"I don't have time for fresh air!" Hermione scrawled her signature on the bottom of the parchment and flipped it aside, reaching for a huge book on Ancient Runes. "I've gotten so behind on my studying, I can't believe it..."

"Hermione, you don't need to get so worked up," Ron said, moving some of her books so he could see her face. She made a cross little hissing noise and pulled them back within reach. "Look, you could fail absolutely everything and it'd still be okay. You're a heroine with an Order of Merlin First Class, you won't have any trouble finding a job or anything."

Hermione looked aghast. "If I fail _everything_... Ron, don't even _say_ it! I could, I've gotten so far behind, and if I don't get my N.E.W.T.s I'll spend the rest of my life brewing second-rate love-potions in some _hole_ of a laboratory for _Fred and George_ and... no, no, I have to keep working! You go get some fresh air, if you want it, but..." She trailed off into incoherent mumbles, stuffing her parchment into her bag and almost running out of the room, with her stacks of books floating along behind her like angular, obedient sheep.

"Oh, _that_ was clever." Harry gave Ron a disgusted look.

"What? I was trying to make her feel better!" While his face was down on the table, Ron had acquired a splotch of ink on one cheek that added a certain something to his bewildered-idiot expression. "She really doesn't have to worry about it."

"Ron, this is Hermione. To her, doing well on exams is more _important_ than getting a job... or at least about the same." Harry shook his head. "I'll tell Dilly to keep an eye on her. You want to get the broomsticks out and fly for an hour to clear our heads before we get back to it?"

"Sounds good. You find Dilly, I'll get the brooms. Meet you on the Quidditch pitch in fifteen."

* * *

"Professor Snape?"

That chirpy little voice was not the voice he was anticipating. He had suggested skipping their last chess-game before her exams, knowing that she had to study, and had been privately elated when she'd refused, claiming that the game would help her to steady herself and order her thoughts before plunging back into studying. He'd planned to discuss past N.E.W.T. examinations, to give her as much help as he could without compromising his conscience or hers. And she was late, and now Dilly the house-elf had appeared in his office in her stead. "What is it, Dilly? Is Miss Granger unable to attend our meeting?"

"Miss Granger is very upset, Professor Snape," Dilly said, wringing her hands anxiously. "That Weasley boy is saying something to upset her, and now she is working herself up about her N.E.W.T.s. I is worried she will make herself sick if she doesn't calm down soon, and she is upsetting the baby. She is asking me only to tell you she is too busy, but I is hoping you will go up and calm her down, Professor sir, she is always listening to you."

That Weasley boy never knew when to keep his mouth shut. "I will be there momentarily, Dilly. Bring a tea tray to Miss Granger's room."

"Yes, Professor!" Dilly vanished with a bang, and a moment later there was a second bang as Severus slammed the door behind him.

Minerva was right, damn it. Hermione would never stint Martin of care, he was certain of that, but she would work herself to frayed nerve and bone to care for him and achieve every other goal she'd set herself as well. He'd seen the signs of short sleep and lost appetite on himself often enough to recognise them on her, and lately he'd watched her forcing herself to eat, choosing mild foods that wouldn't upset her stomach. She probably only ate at all for her son's sake, she would be living on coffee and toast if she wasn't feeding him as well...

Pausing outside Hermione's door, he could hear Martin wailing thinly even through four solid inches of oak. It wasn't until he opened the door that he heard Hermione sobbing as well. She was clutching her son, trying vainly to comfort him even as she cried hysterically herself. Her own sobs and the baby's shrieks rendered whatever she was trying to say unintelligible, and Severus had closed the door behind him and advanced into the room before she realised he was there. "I... I'm sorry..." she managed, struggling to stifle her sobs. "I... I've..."

"You have worked yourself into a state," Severus said, sitting down beside her on the bed and firmly removing the baby from her arms. He remembered how to hold the child properly, and surely being removed from his weeping mother could only serve to calm Martin down. "What's the matter?" He managed to settle Martin comfortably in one arm, and the other wrapped itself without permission around Hermione's slender shoulders.

She uttered a little wail and leaned against him. "I'm g-going to fail _everything_, I j-just know it... I'm g-going to let everyone d-down and I'm going to h-have to go work for F-Fred and George and I won't be a-able to provide for Martin properly and I'm going to b-be a bad m-mother!"

Severus blanched. "Work for Fred and George _Weasley_?" What an appalling waste of a brilliant mind - not to mention the horror of having to spend all day, every day, with one or both of those two menaces. "Hermione Granger, if you do such an idiotic thing...!"

She gulped, burrowing her face into his robes. "But nobody e-else will have me, with n-no N.E.W.T.s and a b-baby..."

"Don't be ridiculous." He jiggled Martin awkwardly. It made no appreciable difference. "You could have passed all your N.E.W.T.s before the war. If you wish to excel rather than merely passing, of course, you will have to work at it."

Hermione sniffled, but her sobbing eased a little. "Do you really think so?"

"I am not in the habit of giving empty compliments." Martin let out a particularly loud yell, and his father gave him an exasperated look. "Hermione, what on earth does one do to him to make that infernal noise stop?"

"He's frightened because I've b-been crying." Hermione's hand located Martin more or less by feel, since her face was still buried in Severus's chest, and cupped his fuzzy head gently. "Comfort him a bit and he sh-should stop."

Martin was too young for peppermints and advice, and Severus had never mastered any other form of comfort. Still, Hermione's hand on the boy's head seemed to be helping, and Severus attempted to assist her by tucking Martin more securely against his chest and saying "There, there," rather uncertainly.

Hermione giggled weakly. "You sound just like Professor McGonagall... except she won't even pick him up. I think she's afraid she'll break him or something." She wriggled around, somehow managing things so that she was holding Martin and Severus found himself with arms around them both. "Shhh... I'm sorry I frightened you, darling, I won't do it any more..."

Martin began to quiet, and Severus reluctantly drew away. He would have liked nothing more than to hold them both for the rest of the evening, and didn't dare indulge in even a few minutes. Fortunately, Dilly had obeyed his instructions, and a tray sat on the small table with steam rising from the teapot. "Would you like a cup of tea, Hermione?"

"Yes, please." He heard a rustle, and Martin's wails stopped abruptly. "Bottomless pit," Hermione said tenderly. "You've got hollow legs, just like your Uncle Ron."

Severus took his time making the tea, careful to keep his back to Hermione. Her eyes were on the baby, and she didn't notice the imperfect reflection in the window that Severus watched eagerly. The image was dim and a little blurred, but he saw her cradling his son, murmuring tender nonsense as he suckled, his small fist waving in apparent contentment. She captured that waving fist when it bumped her collarbone, kissing it lightly and smiling down at her son. Their son.

Seeking comfort more than food, Martin only nursed for a few moments before turning his head away. Hermione buttoned her robes again, and Severus turned to offer her a cup of tea. "Here."

"Thank you." She accepted the cup, turning a little away from the baby to drink from it. "I'm sorry, I've been such an idiot..."

"You've been overdoing it, as usual." He sipped his own tea, looking her over critically. "You look dreadful." She did, too. Her eyes were red, with dark smudges beneath them, her hair was a mess, her nose was bright pink and her whole face blotchy from crying. He wanted nothing more than to gather her into his arms and kiss her senseless.

She laughed a little. "I always go all pink and blotchy when I cry. So does Martin."

"He looked like a distressed tomato when he was crying," Severus said, pleased to note this resemblance between mother and son. "Other than that, he is improving remarkably in appearance." At birth Martin had looked like a scrawny, wrinkled little pink monkey. At nearly two months old he was significantly larger, with a shock of dark hair and bright dark eyes. He was, Severus thought, a rather handsome specimen of babyhood.

"He's beautiful," said the doting mother proudly, stroking Martin's cheek. "And so alert, for his age. He always pays attention to what's going on around him. Some of them don't - they just lie there like little drugged blancmanges."

She smiled at him, acknowledging her use of his words, and he couldn't help returning the smile just a little. "He looks healthy, certainly."

"He is. Poppy checks him over every week, and she says he's just perfect." Hermione smiled hopefully at Severus. "Would you like to hold him?"

He would. He wanted very much to hold him. To hold his son and talk to Hermione, to have a pleasant and domestic little chat over tea and biscuits with his son in his arms. "No. Thank you." He finished his tea and set the cup down, rising just a shade too quickly. "I should be going. Now that you are calmer, it would be... inappropriate for me to remain."

Hermione's face fell, but she nodded. "Of course. I'm sorry." She couldn't know, of course, that Minerva McGonagall would have actively encouraged him to remain, and she was still true to her assertion in the beginning that she didn't want to make any trouble for him.

"Take better care of yourself. Your N.E.W.T.s are far more likely to suffer from being overtired than being under-prepared." She nodded, and he left before the regretful sadness in her lovely eyes could destroy his resolve. She wanted him to stay, but only for the sake of his son.

It couldn't possibly be because she wanted him to stay with her. His longing for her to return his love was warping his judgement, making him think he saw that which logic told him could not be there.

* * *

"I have one request, Griselda, regarding Hermione Granger."

Severus turned his head just slightly, the better to eavesdrop on Minerva's conversation with the decrepit old Examiner. Marchbanks had overseen his own O.W.L.s and N.E.W.T.s, and had not looked appreciably younger even then.

"Oh, really?" Professor Marchbanks skewered a slice of roast beef and chewed on it with obvious relish. "Fudge insisted you were going to ask for special treatment for the girl. Didn't expect it."

Minerva snorted. "Cornelius Fudge is an unmitigated ass, Griselda, as well you know. I simply wanted to ask that Miss Granger be allowed to leave her written examinations early if she finishes early, and that she be called in the first group for the practical examinations. While I have no intention of in some way trying to make the N.E.W.T.s easier, I would like to minimize the time she must spend away from her son." She gave Griselda Marchbanks a meaningful look. "New babies... er... must eat often, you know."

Severus nearly choked on his own roast beef, his brief splutter fortunately covered by the wheezing laughter of Professor Marchbanks. "Very true, Minerva, very true... it's been a long time, but I do recall. Well, I don't see anything wrong with letting the girl go first. Won't change the nature of the examinations at all."

"Good. Thank you, Griselda." Minerva looked relieved. "Miss Granger has, so far, made a great effort to attend all her classes and keep up with all her work quite as usual, but I understand that babies have an extremely limited capacity and must be refilled frequently."

Only years of rigid self-control kept Severus from laughing as loudly as Griselda Marchbanks at the childless Headmistress's apparent belief that infants worked to the same basic principles as inkwells.

* * *

"Just _breathe_, Hermione, you're going to have some kind of attack if you don't relax." Harry patted her back gently. "Look, it'll be fine. It's Potions, it's one of your best things."

"Yes, but..." Hermione twisted her fingers together nervously. "What if I make a mistake? I'd never be able to look Professor Snape in the eye again if I didn't get this N.E.W.T, after all the extra time he's spent helping me to catch up. And it's so easy to make _mistakes_ in Potions - what if I lose count of my stirs or I cube my dried wartcap instead of dicing it?"

"You can always find _something_ to worry about, can't you?" Ron put an arm around her shoulders and squeezed gently. "Don't fret about it. At least you don't have to wait all afternoon for your turn."

Hermione nodded. "That was nice of Professor McGonagall," she agreed. While she was fairly sure Martin could have held out until the G's were called, it was a relief to be able to get it over at once. "Oh, I'm so nervous..."

"Well, it'll be over soon," Harry said cheerfully, as Professor Tofty approached. "Off you go."

Hermione followed the tiny, elderly wizard, her nervousness only slightly relieved by a brief smile from Draco. "Once again, Miss Granger, you lead us all off." Professor Tofty sounded quite cheerful about it, at least. "Doing your N.E.W.T.s with a new baby must be challenging!"

"That's a polite word for it." Hermione smiled shyly at him. "But Professor McGonagall has been very kind. One of the house-elves is helping me to take care of Martin, so I've been able to go to classes and everything just as usual."

"Commendable, commendable," Professor Tofty said brightly. "Now, Professor Snape has informed us that the two of you have discussed a rather daring little variation on the traditional ingredients for the Greater Restorative Draught. You may prepare it in the traditional fashion, or use your variation for an extra point."

Hermione felt her face go cold. "The... the variation? But we haven't tested it yet!"

"Ability to innovate is vital in N.E.W.T. level potions." Professor Tofty twinkled at her. "Besides, something has to offset your advantage in already knowing precisely how the Greater Restorative Draught is made, and thus not being tripped up by the slight inaccuracy in the provided instructions."

Hermione returned his smile, a lot of her nervousness draining away. _She_ could have recited from memory all twenty-seven complex and precisely timed steps for the traditional Greater Restorative Draught, as well as the twenty-five steps required for the variation she and Severus had theorized. "Then I suppose I should begin, shouldn't I?" Approaching the designated bench, she reached for a handful of dried scarabs and a mortar and pestle.

* * *

For this year, the Defence N.E.W.T. had been set on the last day. It had come as a relief to more than half of the seventh-years, and as an exercise in terror to the others. Even Hermione hadn't been able to muster much in the way of nerves for the Defence practical - after crouching behind a bit of broken stone trading hexes with Macnair and Crabbe Senior who were lurching around knee deep in blood and mud, there was nothing even the slightest bit scary about trading a few hexes with a nice examiner in a clean, airy room. Lavender had staggered out of the room sobbing, and Hermione had to admit she'd smirked at the sight.

Finally Ron ambled out, deliberately casual. "That was a doddle," he was telling an impressed-looking Hufflepuff with curly black hair. "Nothing like real fighting, really." Then he spotted Harry and Hermione, and waved. "'Scuse me. Harry! Hermione! This is _it_! We're _done_!"

"Yeah." Harry rested a hand on the stone wall beside him. "I'm going to miss it. Hogwarts, I mean. It was my first real home."

Ron nodded, patting Harry on the shoulder. "But we'll make another one. Did you talk to her yet?"

"No, not yet." Harry glanced at Hermione. "I was waiting for you."

"Talk to me about what?" Hermione narrowed her eyes. If Harry was waiting for Ron, then they'd cooked something up together. That usually wasn't a good sign.

Harry looked around at the crowded entrance hall. "Not in here. Come on, let's go take advantage of the sunshine." He led them out into the grounds, Hermione automatically cupping a hand over Martin's face to shield his eyes from the sunlight. She'd wanted to be there when Harry and Ron finished their final N.E.W.T., so she'd nipped up to her room and fed Martin while C through N were tested, then tucked him into his sling and headed back down to wait for the boys.

Harry found them a shady spot under the big tree by the lake, and sat down on the grass. "Listen, Hermione, Ron and I have been talking..."

"A phrase to give any sensible woman pause," Hermione said, smiling as Martin looked up at the leaves dappling the sky with apparent fascination. "What have you been talking about, and how long is it going to take me to repair the damage?"

Ron lolled on the grass, his hands behind his head, and grinned up at her. "No damage this time. We're being all mature and that."

"We're going to live at Grimmauld Place," Harry explained. "It'll take a while to get it all fixed up, but it'll be handy for Auror training, and it's... well, it's mine. I don't want to let Sirius's inheritance just crumble away."

"Good." Hermione smiled at him. She knew going back to Grimmauld Place would be hard for Harry, but it was probably best for him to face his grief and exorcise it, rather than letting it drive him away from what might become a home. "That's a good idea, Harry."

"And we were wondering... uhm... if you'd like to live with us." Harry gave her a hopeful look. "There's loads of room, and you and Martin could have a whole floor to yourselves if you wanted. We could make him a proper nursery and everything."

"We'd really like it if you did," Ron said, rolling on his stomach and gazing at her hopefully. "The three of us still together, even if you don't want to be an Auror. It'd feel weird if you weren't _around_, you know?"

Hermione found herself tearing up. They obviously meant it - they weren't making the offer because she needed a place to live, or because they didn't think she could take care of herself and Martin. They'd all been together for so long that she didn't really want to make the break all at once, either. "Oh, Ron... Harry..." She sniffled and hugged Harry, since Ron was currently out of reach. "I'd love to."

"Good." Harry beamed and hugged her back. "We're family, really. It'll be nice to live together for a bit."

* * *

Draco hadn't visited his rooms since the night when Severus had compared him to his father. When Severus retreated there after his last class of the day, however, he found Draco sitting in his accustomed chair. No tea, this time - instead, a dull green bottle sat on the small table. Scotch, single malt, very old - brandy might be the traditional tipple for the wealthy and pure of blood, but Lucius had had a taste for scotch and had squared it with his aristocratic conscience by drinking only the very finest. Draco must have procured this bottle from the Malfoy family cellars.

One glass, decorously half-filled, sat beside the bottle. The other was in Draco's hand, and he lifted it in a half-salute to his godfather. "The last of my exams are over, and I am a free man," he said gravely. "Have a drink with me?"

"Of course." Severus nodded, pleased to be included in the ritual, and took the glass, sitting in the chair opposite Draco. "To what shall we drink?"

Draco looked down at his glass. He looked tired, which the N.E.W.T.s would account for, and sad, which they would not. "To friendship," he said after a long moment of silence, meeting his godfather's gaze steadily. "Alliance, partnership, call it what you will - whatever it is we have, let's drink to it."

Severus nodded and lifted his glass silently, draining it in one as Draco did the same. He wasn't sure what to call it, either, although 'kinship' was close. Whatever it was, he valued it.

Draco silently filled the glasses again, and resumed his seat, turning his glass slowly and watching the firelight gleam in the golden depths of the scotch. Twice he opened his mouth, and twice he closed it again. Eventually Severus tired of watching him fidget. "Draco, whatever you want to say, say it and be done."

Draco nodded, his glass stilling as he looked up to meet his godfather's eyes. "Forgive me," he said quietly. "But... I'm not the only person in this room who's in love with Hermione Granger, am I?"

Severus looked away. "I've told you before, Draco-"

"That there was too much mead and a lapse in judgement, I know. But I've got eyes, Severus. You've been shorting yourself on sleep for months so you can spend time with her, you've invited her into your rooms and spent hours playing chess with her and talking. Since Martin was born, you've even abandoned your own research to help her catch up and pass her N.E.W.T. I doubt anyone else has noticed, but I know you too well. You've been desperate to sieze every moment you can with her before she leaves."

"I..." He hadn't wanted to burden Draco with this. On the other hand, who else could possibly understand the anguish of loving her and being offered only friendship? "I told you the truth. At the time of Martin's conception, there was nothing between us. Since then..."

"Since then." Draco nodded, his lips tightening as he nodded. "I learned to care for her since then, too."

"I hoped she would return your love," Severus said quietly. "I truly did, Draco. You could take care of her and Martin far better than I could."

"And you would have given her to me without a moment's hesitation?" Draco was watching the twirling glass again.

"She has never been mine to give. But I would have surrendered any claim on my son, and gone away until my own emotions were... under control." And a bleak prospect it would have been, but at least he would have had the comfort of seeing the two persons he loved best in the world happy.

Draco sighed. "You're a better man than I am, Severus," he said quietly. "I am not my father, but in some ways I am like him. What I want and cannot have, I cannot easily surrender to someone else." Severus frowned, and Draco smiled sadly. "When I looked into Hermione's thoughts, I was immediately and justly punished for my intrusion. I wanted to know if she could ever love me - and saw that her heart had already been given, and to the one person who is more important to me even than Hermione. She loves you. She loved you when Martin was conceived and she loves you now."

Severus was vaguely aware of the glass slipping through suddenly lax fingers, of the thud as it hit the thick rug and the splash of scotch across his boots. It was unimportant. The only important thing was the face of the young man across from him, sad and a little guilty but honest. "She... what?"

"She loves you. I should have told you earlier, and I'm sorry." Draco rubbed a hand wearily over his face. "The last gasp of my Malfoy training, perhaps. If I couldn't have her, then we'd suffer together. But..." He smiled lopsidedly. "You've risked your life to save mine more than once. You've fought for me and stood by me and smacked me across the ear when I'm being an idiot. You're more important to me than she is. I'm sorry it took so long for me to work that out."

"I..." Severus closed his eyes for a moment, drawing in a deep breath. "You must be mistaken. She can't... It's impossible that she should care for me." He must not for an instant let himself believe the wonderful delusion that she could love him. When it proved to be untrue, the pain would be too much. "We are friends, I think, and I hope that she has come to -"

"Severus." A clink of a glass being set down, and warm fingers resting lightly on his hand. "Please believe me. She loves you. Go to her and say... I don't know. Something. Recite some romantic poetry. Ask her to marry you. _Something_."

Severus opened his eyes at that. "Recite poetry? _Me_? She'd laugh."

"Severus, I don't think she'd laugh if you showed up naked with a rose in your teeth, reciting Arithmantic calculations." Draco grinned a little. "But... no, romantic poetry isn't really your style, is it?"

"Romance in general isn't my style." It was simply impossible. She was an attractive, intelligent young woman who could have any number of younger, handsomer men. "Even if she were to be... fond of me, she and Martin would only suffer for being associated with me. Surely it would be better for them to say nothing."

Draco snorted. "Severus, don't be ridiculous. Her status as a heroine far outweighs yours as a traitor; Hermione Granger could shack up with a troll and everyone would still think she was marvellous." He slid out of his chair, kneeling beside Severus and looking up at him earnestly. "And believe me, because I know better than anyone else how true this is - you would be a good father. Better than mine. Better than most that I know. Martin would be lucky to have you."

Severus looked down at the pale face lifted to his, and rested his hand lightly on Draco's shoulder. "I am afraid," he said with painful honesty. "If I let myself hope, and you were mistaken..."

"I'm not." Draco sighed. "I'm trying to do the right thing, Severus, but you're not making it easy. Didn't you two actually _talk_ while you were creating a new life?"

Severus winced. "I don't know," he muttered.

"You don't know? How can you not know?" Draco's eyes widened. "You don't remember?" Severus shook his head mutely, and Draco covered his eyes with one hand. "Oh _Merlin_... I knew you were drunk at the victory celebrations, but I didn't know you were that drunk."

Severus frowned. "Did you see me?"

"I dragged you upstairs and put you to bed at around two. I found you curled up in the library with your head on a book." Draco rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "So you don't remember anything at all about the time with Hermione?"

"Nothing."

"Did you try using a Pensieve?"

"Yes. After about nine in the evening, it's all gone."

Draco grinned suddenly. "You still have the Pensieve?"

"Yes. Dumbledore left his to me." At least after giving Severus several truly agonizing memories to live with, the old man had had the decency to provide a way to deal with them.

"Good." Draco smirked. "Then trot upstairs, tell her you can't live with the uncertainty any longer, and demand to see _her_ memory of what happened."

"Draco, I cannot demand to see someone else's memory!" Severus was shocked by the very idea - but tempted, too. Surely it couldn't be worse than the meaningless, humiliating encounters his imagination had conjured to torture him with.

"Why not? You're only asking for the part you're in. It's nothing you didn't see the first time around." Draco shrugged. "Besides, if you're planning to pine for her for the rest of your life instead of being sensible and proposing to her before she gets away, you might as well get a good look so you'll get the fantasies right."

"Draco!" Severus shot to his feet, scowling furiously.

"I'm sorry. I know that it's more important than that." Draco rose as well, smiling lopsidedly. "But I had to get you out of that chair somehow."

Severus relaxed slightly. "The idea is... not without merit."

"Good. Go now, before the scotch wears off and you lose your nerve."


	28. Chapter 28: Memory

**Chapter 28: Memory**

* * *

Hermione was in the bath, enjoying her twenty minutes of completely-alone-time. It was the only time she was entirely away from Martin, the boys, and everyone else, and she enjoyed it. So she wasn't at all pleased when the bathroom door opened and Dilly slipped in, closing the door firmly behind her. "Professor Snape is here to see Miss. He is insisting that it cannot wait."

Dilly was usually thrilled to see Severus, but she sounded decidedly dubious this time. Hermione hastily scrambled out of the bath and reached for her dressing gown. She'd long ago gotten used to the idea of Dilly seeing her breastfeeding, in the bath, and so on. The little house-elf acted so much like a motherly middle-aged lady who'd already seen everything that anyone of either gender might have that it just didn't seem like a terribly big deal. "Is something wrong, Dilly?"

Dilly's ears drooped slightly. "Professor Snape is smelling of drink, Miss," she whispered, sounding scandalized. "Dilly thinks he is not quite sober. Professor Snape is hardly ever drinking during the school year, Miss, Dilly is worried that something is wrong."

Hermione was worried, too. She'd only ever seen him actually drunk the one time, and it had impaired his judgement very badly indeed. "I'll go talk to him, Dilly. Please get us some fresh tea."

"Yes, Miss," Dilly said, looking dubious but vanishing obediently. Hermione had long ago worked out that the quickest way to get rid of the house-elf was to ask for something.

She tied her dressing-gown tightly around her, hoping it wasn't too terribly obvious that she was starkers underneath, and padded out into the bedroom on still-wet feet. Severus was standing in the middle of the room, scowling, and Hermione smelled a faint whiff of some heavy, alcoholic smell. "Is something wrong?"

"Yes." His hands were clenching and unclenching at his sides. "I have tried to remember, Hermione. I have tried potions, a Pensieve, lucid dreaming - everything I can think of, but nothing has worked. I know that Draco found me semi-conscious and put me to bed at two. I know I spoke to Arthur Weasley at about ten and that I walked in on Fred Weasley snogging Lucinda Abbot at half-past one. But I can't _remember_ any of it, any more than I can remember... that." He glanced at the cradle. "I need to know, Hermione."

Hermione felt very cold. She was distantly aware that she had reached for the nearest post of her bed, clutching at the carved wood for support. "I've told you what happened. Details aren't necessary, surely."

"My life depended for too long on knowing exactly what I had revealed, when, and to whom. To have an empty place in my memory is..." He shook his head, frowning. "I need to know what happened. For my own ease of mind."

Hermione swallowed hard. "I told you everything that was important. Really." He wouldn't, he _couldn't_ make her sit down and describe the details of... of that. No. Even if he tried, she'd never be able to get the words out.

"I have a Pensieve. I know you know how to remove -"

"_No_." Hermione felt as if she was shouting the denial, but it came out in a strangled whisper.

"I was there, Hermione, I am entitled to -"

"No. I will not extract one of my own memories so you can watch us... together." Hermione shuddered. Her fingers felt numb and her heart felt as if it were beating far too slowly. She'd never expected this. The one comfort in knowing that he didn't remember any of it was knowing that he didn't know what a bloody lovesick fool she'd made of herself, and that was one thing she never wanted him to find out.

His eyes narrowed. "Miss Granger," he said, in the silky, furious tone that she hadn't heard from him since he'd thought she was having an affair with Percy. "You have admitted already that you forced your attentions on me while I was too damned drunk to give meaningful consent. Moreover, you failed to cast a proper contraceptive charm and then elected to risk exposure for both of us, without consulting me, by carrying the child to term. Every decision that should have been shared you have made alone. A chance to see for myself what happened, rather than depending on your abbreviated and no doubt biased account, is but the least part of what you owe me for what you have done."

The words struck her like blows, and Hermione found herself sitting on the floor, her trembling legs having failed to support her. "I... I thought..." she whispered, watching him blur and waver as her eyes filled with tears. "I didn't think you were still angry with me."

"I wasn't, until you refused to let me see my own past," he said coldly. "What was it, exactly, that you are so ashamed to have me see? Why are you so frightened by the thought that I might know the truth?"

Hermione felt the chill of shock ease, just slightly, as she finally noticed his tight, defensive posture and the tremble in his hands. After years of torment at the hands of both sides, of course he would think that her secret must be some hurtful, humiliating thing. It was fear that made him so harsh, it must be. He didn't hate her. He couldn't have been pretending to like her for so long, he was just... afraid. He needed to know. And he would never, ever trust her again if she didn't show him the truth, as humiliating as it would be.

Her hands were shaking so much that it took her several attempts to get her wand out of her pocket. "Get the little bowl on the dresser." He fetched it silently as she touched the tip of her wand to her temple, closing her eyes and focusing on that night. "I want this memory returned as soon as you finish with it."

"I will return it." The bowl nudged insistently against her arm. "Give it to me."

Swallowing hard, tears spilling down her cheeks from under her closed eyelids, Hermione drew out the silvery strand of memory and let it fall into the tiny bowl. It hurt, oh it hurt, to lose that one memory of him that she could never replace, and she could feel the cloudy emptiness in her memory like an open wound. "Take it. Look, if you must."

"I must." She heard footsteps, and then heard the door open and close. She was still huddled on the floor, weeping helplessly, when Dilly reappeared with the unneeded tea.

* * *

Severus was still breathing unevenly when he locked and warded his door behind him. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. That hadn't been what he'd wanted to do. If Draco had by some miracle been right, he'd surely killed any affection she might have had for him now.

He hadn't been able to help it. He'd expected her to be reluctant to show him the memory, and he'd even been willing to allow her to leave out the actual act of intimacy. But then he'd made the request and seen the fear and guilt written clearly across her face, and he'd known there was something she hadn't told him. Something she didn't want him to know.

Voldemort. The Death Eaters. The Aurors. The Order. The Marauders. He'd been helpless against all of them, and they'd all used him for whatever purpose they'd thought he could best serve. At the sight of her guilt, years of fear and bitterness and shame had welled up in a great angry rush of _what have you done to me_ and in that moment he'd hated her, wanted her to feel as helpless and frightened as he did.

And it had worked. She'd been curled up on the floor when he'd left her, sobbing as if her heart was broken. Perhaps it was. Perhaps Draco had been right, and she'd begun to care, and he'd destroyed her love and trust in a single spate of angry words.

Severus drew a trembling hand across his face. Maybe it wasn't too late. Maybe if he went back to her now, returned the memory unseen, begged her forgiveness...

But he couldn't. He needed to know what it was she wanted to hide; what could be worse than what she'd already confessed to.

His stomach twisting with grief, he walked to the Pensieve he had set out on the small table beside his chair. Carefully, he tipped the single strand of memory into it, watching it swirl like smoky mercury for a long moment.

Then he entered it.

_Severus found himself standing in the grounds of Malfoy Manor, where the celebrations had been held. Weasley fireworks lit up the sky, and bonfires dotted the lawn in front of the Manor. He hadn't been inside the Manor itself until later, he remembered that much, so he looked around for himself._

Some distance away, a group had formed around a bonfire and were dancing to a tinny tune from a small radio. One of the dancing figures broke away from the group, heading towards a great tree that loomed at the edge of the wide lawn.

_As she got closer, he recognized the wavy masses of hair and bouncy stride, even though the first was bleached to silver-grey by the moonlight and the second slightly impeded by the dewy grass. She looked terribly young and earnest, the moonlight hiding the ravages of war, and he followed her into the shadows under the tree._

"Professor Snape!" Hermione Granger said brightly, addressing a dark figure who was leaning against the trunk of the tree, apparently watching the cavorting figures on the lawn. "I thought the shadow lurking under the tree must be you." She was holding a half-empty glass, but her feet and voice were steady and she seemed alert enough.

"And, as you see, you were correct," he said, inclining his head slightly. He looked relaxed, or as relaxed as he ever did look, and there was a glass in his hand as well.

"Good!" She smiled up at him, with every appearance of being delighted to be in his company. "Because I wanted to ask you to dance, and that would be difficult if you were not, in fact, you."

_He could almost see the thoughts going through his memory-self's mind. Miss Granger had just asked him to dance. In a decidedly flirtatious tone. Could he be hallucinating?_

A single eyebrow rose. "Me, Miss Granger? Dance?"

"Why not? And it's Hermione." She took a sip of her mead, and then set the glass down on a handy tree-root, holding out slender hands to him. "Just one? We can stay under the tree, so nobody sees you doing something so frivolous."

_Never in Severus Snape's life had a girl asked him to dance. Certainly not a pretty, headstrong young witch who gazed up at him with a sweetly coaxing expression. Even stone-cold sober he was tempted by her her winsome little appeal._

Severus set down his glass and gravely accepted the offered hands. "I must warn you," he said seriously, "that I am sadly out of practice at this particular activity."

Hermione laughed. "I'm not good at it either," she admitted, moving closer and smiling at him again. "But it's fun all the same. And nobody's watching."

They danced, and although neither did it well, they did appear to enjoy it. Severus seemed to slowly gain confidence, looking down with a wondering expression at the girl in his arms. "It seems strange to be celebrating," he said, after a long pause. "So many have died or been injured..."

"It's like a wake," Hermione said after a moment's thought, tipping her head back to gaze up at him seriously. "We've all been through so much, and lost so many... so tonight we drink and shout and dance until we're happy again."

_He watched her hair brushing across his memory-self's hand as it rested decorously on her back, and his own hands twitched, wondering what it had felt like. She was at her most charming when her hair was confined, the better to display her slender neck and delicate features. But seeing it loosened after so long, his fingers twitched with the desire to bury themselves in that waving cascade. _

"A logical conclusion," he agreed, gazing down at her. He looked steady enough, he wasn't slurring, but the way his emotions were showing plainly on his face were a definite sign that he'd had much more to drink than he should. "But I am not, in general, inclined to drinking, shouting, or dancing."

"Or being happy, either, I've noticed," she said, arms twining around his neck as she smiled up at him. She pulled his head down, and kissed him lightly on the cheek. "It's a shame. I'd like you to be happy."

_Severus could almost feel the warm brush against his own cheek - almost, but not quite. He moved closer still, watching her face eagerly as both pairs of feet stopped moving and they stood looking at each other._

"Really?" He looked a little stunned, gazing down at her as she stood with her arms still around his neck, and his looped around her waist. "Why?"

She touched his forehead, small fingers tracing the frown-line engraved between his brows. "Because you're not," she said simply, and smiled at him, snuggling into what had become an embrace, surely without any intention on his part. "I'm glad you danced with me. I was so nervous about asking you."

_He watched himself tense defensively, and then relax. So he hadn't been completely undone by alcohol. At least some of his defenses had still been up._

A small smile quirked his mouth as she snuggled up to him. "As well you ought to have been," he chided, lifting his hand to brush her wavy hair back from her face. "You are being shockingly forward."

_Not many defences, though. He would never have risked so blatant a caress sober. Wanted to do it, yes... but he wouldn't have._

"And it's working so well," she said, grinning wickedly up at him. "I think I'll go on being shockingly forward, if you don't mind." Before he could do more than raise his eyebrows, she'd pulled his head down again, kissing him lingeringly.

Had he been sober, he would have pulled away at that point. Probably. But he wasn't sober, and so he froze for a moment and then, tentatively returned the kiss. She made a pleased little noise, wrapping her arms around his neck and proceeding to kiss him thoroughly and at length, a procedure in which he cooperated enthusiastically.

_Severus shifted uncomfortably, looking away from their embrace. This wasn't how she'd described the situation at all. She'd claimed to have taken advantage of him, while he was thoroughly inebriated, and he'd expected something more... sordid. A casual matter of 'I'm drunk, and you're here', at best. _

_Not a request for a dance and a rather charming flirtation leading up to a decidedly mutual kiss. Not seeing her leave a group of younger and handsomer men to seek him out and coax him to put his arms around her. Yes, she was decidedly the one taking the lead, but..._

Severus drew away from the kiss, frowning a little. "Why did you do that?" he asked, sounding honestly curious instead of suspicious. Another sign that he'd drunk far too much.

Hermione smiled up at him. "Because I'm seizing the day," she said, brushing her fingers lightly over his cheek. "Doing all the things I'm usually too shy or too nervous to do. And it's nice."

"A mild word for it," he murmured, drawing her a little closer. "Seizing the day, hm?"

"Something we should both do more often," she said firmly. "Kiss me again?"

"Gladly." And he did so, burying a hand in that cloud of wavy hair and tilting her face up to his.

_He watched jealously as her small hands twined in his hair, pulling his mouth tighter to hers, and his hands smoothed over her back, plastering her body more tightly against his. His stomach twisted sourly - if he hadn't lashed out at her when she sought to keep this secret from him, might he have tasted her kisses instead of watching his other self savour them? After too long for his peace of mind, she drew back, and her warm smile sent another jolt of jealousy through him._

"If you wanted to continue this more privately," she suggested, pointing over his shoulder, "there's a nice quiet little shed over there that seems to be unoccupied at the moment."

_Had he been sober enough at the time to see the faint nervousness in her expression? The way her eyes pleaded with him not to reject her? Or had it just been the shock of having a warm, eager young woman in his arms after being alone for too long? _

Severus neither protested nor delayed, but lowered his head to nibble on her ear. "An excellent suggestion," he said, voice a little muffled.

_There. That was the moment. He saw the sudden doubt in her face - she knew that this was uncharacteristic behaviour for him, and suspected she should draw back. _

She did step back, looking up at him... and then she slid her hand into his, twining their fingers together. "Come on," she murmured, drawing him towards the shed.

_He'd seen enough. He didn't need to follow them into the shed. _

_He followed anyway. _

_He watched himself being seduced with tender kisses and soft caresses, and flushed with shame as he saw himself respond with pitiful eagerness. He must have thought this a dream come true, at the time - to celebrate his release from the Dark Lord with... Well, if not love, then at least tenderness and passion. _

_He watched as robes were discarded - she blushed, then, as she hadn't before - and as they tentatively explored each other. She hadn't been repelled by him... by his thinness, or his pallor, or his scars. He watched himself enfolded in slender arms, kissed and coaxed out of embarrassment and nervousness._

"I'm... sorry."

"For what?"

"I don't... do this often."

"Neither do I. But this is a special occasion."

_He watched them twined together on robes spread on the floor, heard his name whispered lovingly and saw her hands move over his back, clutching him to her. And it didn't take very long, and they were both a little clumsy, and he was fairly sure he could do better; but afterwards she made little contented sounds, holding him close and pressing her face into his shoulder, and when he smiled shyly at her she smiled back._

Severus fled the memory, his throat burning. Free of it, he stumbled away from the table, his vision blurring with what he refused to admit were tears even when they ran down his face.

Draco had been right. She had cared, even then. She'd sought him out and seduced him with a sincerity that more than made up for her lack of seductive expertise. Then somehow they'd been separated, and he'd fallen asleep in the library, and Draco had taken him to bed, and in the morning he hadn't remembered any of it. What must she have thought of him the next morning, when he snarled at her from the depths of his hangover? That he was another Ron Weasley, probably, who had taken what he wanted and moved on.

But she had known, by the time she confronted him with Martin's existence, that he didn't remember that night. Somehow she'd figured that much out. And she'd told him anyway.

Severus scrubbed his face with his sleeve. Sweet, idiotic girl... she'd tried to get his attention with the method traditional among infatuated teenaged girls, by offering him sex. And had he been able to remember it, it probably would have worked. He'd never been seduced, and he probably would have clung to the miracle of her apparent interest with both metaphorical hands. It was still a stupid ploy, though, even if it would have worked, and of course the wretched girl had been more afraid that he'd find out she'd done something foolish than letting him think she'd molested him while semi-conscious.

And then she'd come to him, frightened but determined, to tell him she carried his child. Another attempt to get his attention, or just stupid Gryffindor honesty? Deliberate or not, it had worked. She'd absorbed him utterly from that moment, and while he hadn't loved her when they'd conceived their son, he did now.

"Perfect timing," he muttered aloud, because it was. He could not love her more, having just ensured that she would probably never speak to him again.

A loud and peremptory mew answered his words, and because some things were far more inevitable than love or parenthood, he fed the Kneazle a very late supper. She looked decidedly peevish, and snubbed him pointedly while she ate.

"I'll apologize," he told her quietly. "Tonight... no, it's too late. She barely sleeps as it is. I'll go to her tomorrow, early, and return the memory, and I'll try to explain. I'll beg and plead and humiliate myself to her if I have to." He'd hate every second of it, but she was worth it. No matter if it was just a schoolgirl crush or a passing fancy, he would take every moment of it he could have and be grateful. If he could just convince her to give him a chance...

Dear God, she'd been beautiful. Like a statue of pinkish marble, all finely modelled lines and firm curves. A little too thin, perhaps, but they all had been by the end of the war. She probably looked different now, after her pregnancy.

He undressed and went to bed, not expecting to be able to sleep but needing to do something to placate Akilah, who promptly curled up on his stomach and started kneading it with all claws extended. Somewhere between Akilah falling asleep and imagining Hermione as a statue in graceful Greek draperies, his eyes closed and Scotch and exhaustion combined to rob him of consciousness.

* * *

Severus woke to the sound of his bedroom door slamming open. Before his eyes were open he'd already yanked his wand from beneath his pillow and sat up. Akilah yowled her discontent at his movement, and he knew even before his eyes focused what he would see. Only one living person could pass through his wards without alerting him. Only that same person would have been able to magically unlock his door without being caught by the trap written into the spell.

Hermione looked exhausted, her eyes red-rimmed and the dark smudges under them the only colour in her pale face. She was, however, impeccably groomed, with her hair pinned up and her robes spotless. She also looked absolutely furious. "Where is it?"

Severus glanced at the memory, which he had returned to its tiny bowl in preparation for returning it in the morning. He'd set it on the table beside his bed - for safety, naturally. "I -"

"I don't want to hear it. Just give me my memory." She'd never spoken to him in that tone before - even Draco at his most arrogant had rarely merited that brittle fury.

He slid out of bed, lifting the bowl carefully and carrying it in both hands to Hermione. She dipped her wand into the bowl as soon as it was within reach, capturing the memory and lifting it to her temple. It sank into hair, vanishing without a trace, and her eyes fluttered closed for a moment before opening to glare at him. "You were supposed to bring it straight back to me."

"I..." It sounded stupid, now, but he'd been exhausted and distraught himself. "I didn't want to wake you."

She snorted. "Did you really think I'd be able to sleep after that?"

"I suppose not." He wished he hadn't, either. He wished desperately that he wasn't standing before her in his shabby, greyed nightshirt. Even exhausted and unhappy, she was beautiful. He had rarely been less so.

"You looked at it." It wasn't really a question.

"Yes."

Hermione's face crumpled, but she lifted her chin proudly. Without a word, she turned on her heel and stalked towards the door.

"Hermione-" He had to say something, had to beg her understanding, but he couldn't find the words.

She stopped, still facing the door. "What?"

Severus swallowed hard. "_Why_?"

She obviously hadn't expected that, turning to look at him with her hurt expression fading into puzzlement. "What do you mean, why?"

"Why me?" He gestured almost angrily at himself. From lank hair to ugly, beaky face to scrawny body to pallid, skinny legs visible under his nightshirt, he knew what he looked like. What he was. "Why would you... of all the men there, why me? Was it pity?" _Was it a crush, was it love, tell me and let me know once and for all._

She shook her head, her eyes softening as she looked at him. "No. Not pity."

"Then why? What could you have wanted in me?" He was almost angry, at that moment, that she had burst into his self-imposed isolation without so much as a by-your-leave, to force hope and its attendent agonies upon him.

"I..." She looked away, her cheeks pink. "I thought you'd have realised, after watching the memory."

"It looked..." His voice wavered, and he swallowed hard to force it back under control. "It seemed as if you were... fond of me," he said, feeling his own cheeks heat at the presumption.

"I was." His heart shattered and then was made miraculously whole again when she continued. "I am. Why is that so impossible?"

"It isn't, of course." Severus looked down at himself and then back at her. "The strange thing, of course, is that it took you so long to succumb to my handsome face, muscular form, exquisite manners and vast fortune."

She huffed out a tiny laugh, at that, and met his eyes again. "If I wanted all those, I'd have been trying to seduce Draco."

If Severus had his way, she would never know that that would most likely have succeeded. "Then... why?"

"Because you are... yourself." Hermione shook her head, a small smile curling her lips. "I remember exactly when it happened, you know. The first time you made my knees go all weak. It was just after the attack in Much Benham, when we'd retreated to that horrible boggy field in the middle of nowhere to regroup. You were covered in mud and soot and blood, just like the rest of us, with your robes in shreds and two days' worth of stubble holding the mud to your face. Half of us were injured, and the mud was everywhere so it was hard to see who was hurt. You and Harry were having another fight about tactics, the way you always did - and you were right, like you usually are.

"I wasn't paying a lot of attention, though... I was helping Mrs Weasley with the wounded. Then there you were, kneeling in the mud beside me, still telling Harry off for being too stupid to walk and talk at the same time while you knitted Justin's cuts as fast as I could clean them out. You were being rude and confrontational and brilliant and compassionate and bloody sneaky all at once, keeping Harry busy until someone else could take charge so he couldn't do anything stupid. You smelled like a fire in an abattoir and you looked as if you'd just clawed your way out of your own grave and if there hadn't been so many people around I'd have tackled you right there in the mud and kissed you senseless."

Severus remembered that day, but found he could barely remember Hermione's part in it. His attention had been taken up with the over-enthusiastic Potter brat, and Hermione had been only a silent, steady presence at his elbow, cleansing the wounds with her customary thoroughness. The only thought he'd given her that day was a moment of gratitude that there was at least one person in the group he could rely on to do her job carefully and competently. "Not the most romantic of encounters," he said, cautiously allowing a tiny bubble of hope to well up inside him. If he could inspire such feelings at his very worst...

"No." She smiled lopsidedly. "But there are more important things than romance."

"Mutual respect, for example." He gave her a hopeful look. "Shared interests, and... and so on."

"Getting to know each other really well, so you can be sure it's not just a passing... thing." Hermione had definitely noticed that hopeful look, and was turning him to putty with the yearning look in her beautiful eyes.

"Plenty of conversation." Severus moved a tentative step closer. "Hermione... I'm sorry."

"For what?"

They'd had this exchange before, and he saw her realise it even as he did. "I... don't do this often," he whispered, reaching out to touch her cheek with the very tips of his fingers.

"Neither do I." Hermione didn't draw away.

"You've offered me a place in Martin's life, but not in yours. I couldn't have one without the other." The raw honesty was oddly painless.

"I was hoping the one would lead to the other," she said, her lip quivering a little. "I thought maybe, if you got attached to him first..."

"By the time he was born, the thought of having only one of the two was unbearable." He was closer still now, savouring the dawning joy on her small face. "I was certain that you would never regard me with more than friendship, and that would never have been enough for me."

"Oh..." Her eyes were suddenly awash with tears, but she smiled as she moved closer, covering his hand with hers and pressing it to her cheek. "Not for me, either."

Severus reached for her, then forced himself to step back, withdrawing his hand from her grasp. "Miss Granger," he said formally. "For another week and two days, you are a student."

The momentary hurt was replaced immediately with understanding, and he savoured this new evidence of an intellect well matched to his own. "And while I am a student, we shall of course behave with the utmost propriety," she said, attempting to sound solemn with a small smile tugging at the corner of her mouth. "It would not do for any questions to be raised later about the correctness of your conduct during your time as my teacher."

"Nor about yours." Severus inclined his head slightly, returning her slight smile with one of his own. "Perhaps, when you have taken up residence elsewhere, we might continue to meet occasionally to discuss our planned research... and play chess?"

Hermione beamed at him. "I would enjoy that very much," she said, as demurely as Narcissa Malfoy at her most devious. "And I will return to my room immediately, the better to practice my propriety."

"Good." If he were Draco, he would have bowed or said something suave and charming. But she hadn't wanted Draco, she'd wanted HIM, and Severus flipped his fingers at her as if she were an errant first year. "Shoo."

Her delighted laughter seemed to hang in the air after she left.

* * *

Hermione floated back up to her room in a happy haze. The only person she encountered was a sleepy-looking Professor Vector, sneaking back into her room. She and Hermione pretended not to see each other, and Hermione drifted into her room, closing the door behind her carefully.

"Is Miss all right?" Dilly squeaked anxiously.

"Miss is fine," Hermione said dreamily, going over to Martin's cradle and picking him up. "Mummy and Daddy had a little talk today," she told him, kissing his sleepy little face. "I think things are going to work out just perfectly for us."

Dilly sighed. "Dilly is very glad that Professor Snape is seeing sense," she said happily. "All the house-elves is hoping that he and Miss will be settling down properly."

"Miss is hoping so, too," Hermione said, cuddling her drowsy son happily. "Dilly, I could really use some coffee. Strong coffee. And breakfast, if there is any this early."

Dilly looked scandalized at the very thought that there might not be food for a hungry person in a kitchen run by house-elves. "Dilly is getting plenty of breakfast for Miss," she said, vanishing with a louder crack than usual.

Martin started to grizzle, and Hermione smiled, unfastening her robes obligingly. "Your Daddy isn't exactly Prince Charming, but I love him very much," she said softly. "I think you will, too - ow!" Martin had latched on with rather painful enthusiasm. "I'm going to be so glad when you're old enough for solid food, young man."

Several gummy bites, two cups of strong coffee and one minor regurgitation of milk later, Hermione had lost her blissful float entirely; but she was still happier than she quite dared to think about. They had... an understanding. And if he was thinking about future examinations of their conduct, it meant he thought someone might at some point know about this.

"Miss?" Dilly had disposed of the cloths they'd used to wipe up Martin's little incident, and was now standing in front of Hermione, looking nervous again. "Dilly would like to make a request, Miss."

Hermione blinked in surprise. Dilly had never asked her for so much as a tissue, although she'd issued a lot of orders on the subject of proper meals, sleep, and so on. "Of course, Dilly. What is it?"

"The Headmistress has spoken to Dilly. She says she wishes to give Dilly to Miss, so she can still help Miss to look after the baby when she goes away. But the Headmistress thinks Miss will not agree, and Dilly knows Miss has a nasty habit of leaving clothes about." Dilly twisted her ears anxiously. "Dilly wants very much to belong to a proper family, but Dilly does not want to be given clothes."

Hermione hung her head. S.P.E.W. had seemed like a good idea at the time. After months of dealing with a house-elf first-hand (and doing some extensive reading on the subject, which she really should have done earlier), it seemed short-sighted and cruel. While a house-elf as mistreated as Dobby might want to escape, for a happy elf it would be like a child being disowned from his or her beloved family for no reason at all. A house-elf left alone would pine away and die from sheer loneliness, and they were only really happy with lots of people around them to be fussed over. Hermione suspected that house-elf 'enslavement' was really a clever ruse they'd come up with to ensure that their chosen families couldn't run away. "I would never give any elf clothes unless they were wanted. I know better than that now."

"Good." Dilly gave Martin a doting look as he kicked his legs happily. "Dilly is very fond of Miss and the baby. Dilly has never had a family of her own."

Hermione nodded, deeply touched. "Then if the Headmistress does decide to give you to me, I will accept gratefully." She managed a slightly wobbly smile. "I honestly don't know what I'd do without you. I've never had to look after him all by myself."

Dilly bounced excitedly, her big blue eyes moist. "Thank you, Miss. Dilly is telling the Headmistress right away!"

Hermione smiled, and tickled her son's toes as Dilly vanished with a crack. "Well, dearest, in a few hours I think I've secured a Daddy and a house-elf. Our little family's starting to look quite respectable."


	29. Chapter 29: Revelations

**Chapter 29: Revelations**

* * *

"This was a great idea, Harry."

"Yeah, it's been ages since we've had a good party."

"Since the victory celebrations, really."

"It doesn't seem like a year ago, does it?"

Harry grinned at Fred and George. Even war, it seemed, couldn't change the twins save on a purely superficial level. Nobody would ever confuse the two again - George was the twin with two eyes. Fred now had only one, and a ropy scar that stretched from jaw to hairline. "Glad you're enjoying it."

"Definitely." George winked at Katie Bell, who was on the other side of what had once been the Black ballroom. It was the first room Harry, Ron and Hermione had cleared out, and it was now crowded with people. Almost all of them had fought in the war, but Madam Pomfrey was a welcome addition, as were the surviving members of the team of Healers who had risked life and limb to transport the wounded out of the battle zone and get them to St Mungo's. Oliver Wood had brought his rather awestruck boyfriend, and Viktor Krum had stopped by briefly, with his cherubic blonde wife, to fill Harry in on the work being done to eradicate Voldemort's influence in Europe.

"Could've been just a little more choosy about the guests, though." Fred glanced with some distaste towards the part of the ballroom actually being used as a dance-floor, where Draco Malfoy was dancing with Ginny. "Would you mind if we blasted his other arm off?"

"You promised you wouldn't make any trouble," Harry said, rolling his eyes. Malfoy was... well, they'd managed a state of truce after the confrontation with Remus, and he really seemed fond of Hermione. So Harry hadn't complained much when she'd invited him. "Anyway, he's only dancing with Ginny because Hermione asked him to. I can't dance for shite, myself, and Ginny likes it."

"I don't approve. And as for the other one..." Fred glared at Snape, who was engaged in conversation with Arthur Weasley. Snape looked much less tense than usual, and Arthur (he'd ordered Harry to call him that, but it wasn't easy) looked thrilled. If the hand gestures were anything to go by, Snape was indulging the older man with a discussion of his latest obsession - muggle submarines. "Why's he here?"

"Hermione invited him. They're working on some project together." Harry shrugged. "Something about the under-utilised properties of rose-root. I have no idea what that means - my eyes glaze over every time she talks about it."

"She's not said yet whether she'll come and work for us. I wondered what the hold-up was." George frowned. "He's probably told her not to. Interfering git."

"Him and the blond one. Never did trust them." Fred scowled, his scar jumping slightly.

It was a strange sensation, but suddenly Harry felt older than the twins. He didn't think he'd ever like Snape, and Malfoy was still a royal pain in the bum sometimes, but they'd made sacrifices during the war that made Harry shudder to think of and it seemed petty and childish to keep mistrusting them now. "You don't have to talk to them if you don't want to," he said, and blinked to hear Hermione's voice coming out of his mouth. "Go chat up a few girls, if you're bored."

"Will do, Harry mate." George was grinning evilly. "First off, though, I think we should get our friend Draco a drink."

"Yeah." Fred grinned too. "He looks _parched_."

They both turned towards the punch-bowl, and Harry rolled his eyes. "Okay, both of you. That's enough." Now he was chanelling Mrs Weasley. This maturity thing was obviously serious. "What are you planning to slip him?"

"Little something we've been working on." Fred displayed a small bottle, smirking. "Doesn't have an official name yet, but we've been calling it the Anti-Censor Solution."

"The what?"

"It lowers the inhibitions," George explained. "Like alcohol, but without nearly as many side-effects. Lets out your inner... whatever." He grinned at his brother. "Fred has an inner exhibitionist. First time we tested it, he ran the length of Diagon Alley starkers."

Fred chuckled. "And I wish I remembered it. The early batches made the tester forget all about whatever had happened while they were under the influence. We thought it'd be funnier, though, if they could remember later. So George remembers every happy detail of what happened when he asked Parvati and Padma Patil if they'd be interested in a threesome."

George rubbed his jaw, grimacing. "They look so dainty. You wouldn't think they could throw a punch like that."

Harry felt something cold uncurl in his stomach. "So... a potion that you can slip into a drink, that makes whoever drinks it lose all control for... how long?"

"Few hours at most." Fred shrugged. "Don't worry, it's not dangerous - doesn't impair the judgement so badly that they hurt themselves trying to fly or anything."

Harry nodded slowly. "Muggles have things a lot like this." Hermione and Lupin had been chatting not far away. Hermione looked up to meet his eyes, and he saw her pale slightly when she saw his expression. She grabbed Lupin's arm and started tugging him towards the potential conflagration. "Know what they're called?"

"Damn. Nothing new under the sun, I suppose." George sighed as Hermione and Lupin appeared on his left.

"Harry, what's going on?" Hermione asked, small hand curling soothingly over his forearm.

"I thought I took that away from you." Lupin reached for the bottle, scowling.

"Ah-ah, Lupin," Fred said, pulling the bottle away hastily. "We made more. And Muggles have something just like it. What's it called, Harry?"

Harry felt his face twist in disgust. "A date-rape drug," he said, loudly enough that several conversations near him stopped suddenly. "A little helpful something to make sure that they just can't say no." His wand was in his hand, although he didn't remember drawing it, and he pointed at Fred. "_Who have you given it to?_"

Fred's remaining eye had widened, and George stepped in hastily. "Look, Harry, we'd never use it for _that_. It's just a bit of a joke, you know, like spiking someone's drink."

Hermione was looking at the twins as if they were something that had crawled out from under a rock. "And you think that's funny, do you?"

Fred and George looked at each other uneasily. "Well..." Fred said slowly. "Depends on how you use it, I suppose. We've not sold it or anything, we're not licensed for mind-altering substances."

"Who have you given it to?" Harry repeated, his fingers tightening on his wand. "Tell me!"

"Nobody here, I swear. We've mostly only tested it on ourselves." George held up a placating hand.

"_Mostly?_"

"Well, Lee tried it a couple of times. It was hilarious, he -"

"They had some at the victory celebration," Lupin said, frowning. "I confiscated it, though, and they said they hadn't used it yet."

Harry saw George's eyes flick away, and scowled. "They were lying. You were lying, weren't you?"

The confrontation was starting to draw attention. Ron ambled over, with Martin propped against his shoulder. "What's up, Harry?" Behind the twins, Snape had followed Arthur Weasley into hearing range, and Molly was hurrying over as well.

"Who did you give it to?" Harry shook off Hermione's restraining hand and took a threatening step forward. Fred and George had never been inclined to think through the repercussions of their pranks. Whoever it was might not even know what had happened. "Tell me!"

"Nobody, Harry, honest." Fred gave him what might have been an innocent look without the scar.

"He's lying," Ron said quietly. "He always is when he does that look. What'd he give to who?"

"That's what I want to find out." Harry's eyes narrowed. "And I'm going to, one way or another."

George let out an exasperated noise. "All right, all right. We slipped a bit to Snape at the victory celebrations. A quick streak would have livened things up."

George clearly had no idea that Snape was standing behind him, livid with fury. Harry was more concerned with the sudden convulsive clutch at his arm, though. Looking down at Hermione, he saw the colour draining out of her face until he thought she would faint. Just for a moment, she glanced over at Ron with a terrified expression.

No. Not Ron.

Martin.

Harry's head jerked up and his eyes and Ron's met in a moment of shared realization. Hermione was already drawing in a shaky breath and straightening up, but the damage had been done. Harry glanced around. Nobody else seemed to have made the connection yet - they'd missed Hermione's panic thanks to the distraction of George leaping a foot in the air when Snape's hand clamped down onto his shoulder and Snape's voice hissed in his ear. "A streak of _what_, Weasley?"

"A streak of cold fish, apparently. We watched you for ages, but you didn't do anything interesting." Fred looked just as nervous as George, but he spoke up in defence of his twin. "Except for walking in on me with Lucinda Abbot, and you just made a crack about my...uh... freckled backside and walked out again."

"You slipped him a bit of _what_?" Arthur asked, eyes narrowed. "Possession of mind-altering potions is serious, Fred, George, you know that."

"It was just a joke! It's not like he did anything." George looked around for help. "And it's perfectly safe, really, you could even give it to Mart-" He froze, arm half outstretched towards the baby, as the tip of Snape's wand pressed into the soft skin just under his eye.

"George Weasley." Snape's voice _burned_, and Harry shuddered. He'd thought Snape hated him, but it was nothing to the venom directed at George. "If you so much as _touch_ my son I swear to God I will kill you, do you understand me?"

There was a moment of total, frozen silence. Then it was broken by a choked whimper from Hermione, who snatched her baby from Ron's arms and clung to him. Ron and Harry moved automatically to flank Hermione. Whatever had happened, and no matter who was to blame, anyone who hurt their Hermione would have them to deal with.

Fred and George were staring at Martin with identical expressions of horror, their freckles standing out like blood in snow as they went chalky white. "Oh, bloody hell..." Fred whispered.

"What have you done?" Mrs Weasley raised a trembling hand to her mouth. "What did you give to him?"

"A nasty little potion of their own invention. They call it the Anti-Censor Solution." Harry's voice was cold, and he exchanged a curiously understanding glance with Snape, whose firey rage matched Harry's icy fury. "It removes the inhibitions."

"The use of an unauthorized, home-made mind-altering potion on an unwitting victim is, for the record, a class V crime," Lupin said quietly. He sounded calm, but the disgust was clear on his face as he looked at the twins. "Snape, shall I summon Tonks and Kingsley? I'm sure you'd like to press charges."

"I'd like to eviscerate them," Snape said, but he glanced at Hermione and Martin and his face softened just a little. "But no. Hermione has suffered enough, thanks to these two pieces of vermin. I won't drag her through a courtroom as well."

"Suffered because of _us_?" There was an ugly expression on George's face, and now his wand was drawn as well. "What did you do to Hermione while your self-control was impaired?" Harry heard Ron draw in a shocked gasp at that notion, and Mrs Weasley's eyes filled with tears. Lupin uttered a very quiet growl.

"Stop it." Hermione's voice was thin and a little choked, but steady as she stepped out from between Harry and Ron. "He didn't hurt me."

"But..." Fred pointed at Martin. "He said Martin was _his_!"

"He is." Hermione swallowed hard. "And it's your fault. If you hadn't given him that potion, he would never have..." What Harry could see of her face was flaming red, but she continued. "He would never have a-accepted my... advances. I took advantage of him, Fred, not the other way around." In her arms, Martin started to whimper.

Snape slipped his wand back into his sleeve, turning his back pointedly on George. "You are far too inclined to blame yourself for things that are not of your own doing," he said to Hermione, and Harry blinked. He never would have thought Snape's voice could sound so... soft. "And to attempt to take responsibility for the actions of others. Having my inhibitions lowered would have made me more inclined to do precisely what I wished to do, not less."

Hermione's lip trembled. "I'm still sorry," she whispered, and Harry looked away. The moment somehow seemed very private. "For getting you into all this. For taking advantage. For... everything, really."

"Don't be." Harry glanced back, to see long fingers cup Hermione's shoulders lightly. Standing a foot apart, they were more embarrassing to look at than Ron and Lavender in full clinch. "As angry as I was at you at first and as much as I'd like to hex them both into quivering blobs of jelly for their part in this, I would not willingly give you or Martin up."

Hermione's smile looked like the sun coming up, and Snape returned it with an almost shy smile of his own. "Thank you," she whispered, and then she sniffed and wiped her eyes on the end of her sleeve. "Would you take him for a minute?"

"Of course." Snape looked a little nervous when handling Martin, but the baby went to him quite willingly.

"Thank you." Hermione turned and advanced on Fred and George, who flinched.

"Now, Hermione," Fred said, placatingly... then he howled, his knees buckling, as Hermione rammed a slender knee into his groin with what looked like excruciating force. A moment later, George had joined him on the floor, helped along by his youngest brother's much brawnier knee.

"You've only got two," Ron explained when Hermione gave him a startled look. "And you needed one to stand on. And I'm always willing to lend you a hand... or anything else you might need." He looked down at his whimpering brothers with a revolted expression. "I knew they were careless, but I didn't think they'd do something like this."

"Neither did I." Arthur looked queasy. "They've always been a bit... a bit thoughtless, but..."

Molly didn't say anything for a moment. Then she walked over to her groaning sons and prodded them sharply with her toe. "Up. Now."

Nobody had ever heard that tone in her voice before. Fred and George staggered to their feet, looking really frightened now. "Mum, we -" George started.

"I don't want to hear it." The awful cold disdain, that would have suited Lucius Malfoy, sounded strange and frightening coming from Molly Weasley. "You have one hour to clear out your room. Anything belonging to you that is still in the house when I get back to it will be destroyed. After you've collected your possessions, you will leave the Burrow and you will never return, do you understand me?"

Angry as he was, Harry couldn't help a tug of pity at the stunned grief on Fred and George's faces. "Mum..." Fred whispered pleadingly.

Molly turned her back on them, although her own eyes were full of tears. "There's no place for you in our family," she said grimly. "Not after this."

"Dad?" George said in a quiet, disbelieving voice.

Arthur Weasley took off his glasses with a trembling hand, and wiped his own eyes on his sleeve. "You heard your mother," he said, and Harry had never known someone could sound so sad and so remorseless at the same time. "You have an hour."

Both twins looked at Ron, appealing to the last member of their family present. Ron looked pointedly at Hermione, then back at them. "I wouldn't have given you an hour," he said flatly. "Now get out."

The twins looked around helplessly and then walked away, ignoring the shocked gasps and murmurs from the crowd that had gathered around them. Molly gulped, fishing a handkerchief out of her pocket and blowing her nose. "Hermione, dear, I am so sorry," she said, her voice wobbling. "If there's anything we can do..."

Harry expected Hermione to comfort the motherly woman the way she'd always comforted them, but instead Hermione nodded slowly. "There is something..."

"Whatever you ask. That our sons should have done something like this to both of you..." Arthur had aged ten years in as many minutes, and Harry was glad to see that Ron had reached over to pat his dad on the shoulder with awkward affection.

Hermione drew herself up, and an expression spread across her face that Harry knew very well. That was Hermione's laying-down-the-law look. "You - and I mean all of you, including Bill and Charlie and Ginny - can go to Percy and apologise to him for not taking his doubts about Professor Dumbledore seriously, or valuing his achievements on their own merits instead of comparing him to Charlie or Bill all the time," Hermione said sternly, glaring at all three of the Weasleys present. "None of you have ever liked him much... except you, Molly... and you've never even tried to hide it. He feels it badly, and he won't speak to any of you again until he believes that you really want him to come back." She sniffed. "He came all the way to Hogsmeade just to see me when he found out I was going to have a baby, so he could be sure I was all right. And he and Penny sent a present when Martin was born."

Ron grinned suddenly. "I wondered who sent you that hideous silver picture frame with the cross-eyed bear on it."

"It is not hideous." Hermione smiled at him just a little. "I thought it was very sweet of them. They're getting married in September."

Mrs Weasley's lip quivered. "Percy's getting married?"

"Yes. And... well, I think he'd like to make up with all of you," Hermione said, her voice softening. "But it will have to come from you - all of you. He's too certain that he's not wanted to bother trying again until then."

Ron hung his head, looking guilty. "We will, Hermione."

"Good." Hermione sighed, and looked up at Snape with an appealing expression that could reduce anyone even the slightest bit fond of her to jelly. "I suppose we should find Minerva and let her know about the scandal that's about to explode all over the school. I don't know what she's going to say."

"'It's about time', probably." Snape showed no outer signs of jelling, but his voice was positively warm. "She's known for a while now."

Hermione blinked. "She has? How?"

Snape mumbled something, looking horribly embarrassed. When Hermione prompted him, he repeated it slightly louder. "She saw me sneaking into the hospital wing after Martin was born."

"Oh." Hermione bit her lip. "She wasn't... angry?"

"I rather got the impression that she thought it was a very good idea." Snape looked around at the small group, his mouth twisting in a wry smile. "At least someone does, I suppose."

Harry realised they were both looking at him, and sighed. "All right - Hermione, are you absolutely sure about this?"

Hermione gave Snape another of those looks that Harry thought should be kept much more private. "Yes."

"Then I suppose I'm glad you're happy." Harry and Snape shared another understanding sort of look. "Right, Ron?"

"I guess so," Ron said, sounding a bit dubious. "As long as she _is_ happy. If you ever make her sad, we'll hunt you down and hex you while you're sleeping."

"Ronald Weasley!" his mother said, sounding shocked.

"Well, we'd have to, Mum. We can't take him when he's awake." Ron sounded innocently wounded, and both Harry and Hermione snickered.

"Damned right you can't." Snape looked ever so slightly pleased. "If you will excuse us, Hermione and I really should discuss how to handle this, now that it's been made public."

"Just a minute." Harry cleared his throat, and laid one hand on Hermione's shoulder and one on Snape's. "I hope you're both very happy, and I want you to know that I'll support you in any way I can," he said loudly, making sure a good portion of the crowd could hear him. "There," he added quietly. "Best I can do, but the approval of the Boy Who Lived still seems to carry some weight."

"Thank you, Harry." Hermione gave him a quick hug, kissing his cheek lightly.

"Any time. I don't actually have to like him or anything, do I?"

"Not if you don't want to." She smiled fondly at him. "Of course, he doesn't have to like you either."

"Well, no. Wouldn't expect it." Harry was actually quite disturbed by that thought. "You go break the news to McGonagall. Ron, you get Ginny and tell her to stay with your mum and dad, it's been a rough night for them. Then you find that cute reporter from the Prophet... Yomiko, right?"

Ron grinned. "Yeah. She's here somewhere."

"Thought she might be. You go give her a nice, supportive little interview. She likes you, she'll write it however you want." Harry squared his shoulders. "I'll start answering questions while you all nip off. Don't mind me, I'll be fine."

"If I didn't know better, Potter, I'd suspect you of being a leader." Snape's words were disparaging, but there was an approving note in his voice.

"If I didn't know better," Harry said brightly, "I'd suspect you of being sloppily in love. Funny how the eye plays tricks on us, isn't it?"

For the first and only time in his life, Harry Potter had the satisfaction of making Severus Snape blush. It had been worth the wait.

* * *

Hermione was shaking by the time they'd escaped the ballroom and taken refuge in the silent, cobwebbed library. "I'm sorry," she said again, trying to smile. It came out weak and wobbly. "For putting you through that."

Severus transfigured a chair into a sort of round, padded bowl- awkwardly, with his wand in his left hand since the right was holding Martin steady - and deposited his son into it with a rather relieved look. "I'm sorry," he said, speaking to the baby much the same way he did to Akilah. "But your mother needs my attention more than you do just now."

Martin made one of the 'yaaa' noises that Hermione thought might be his first attempts to converse; he usually made some sort of noise when someone spoke to him, anyway. "Thank you," Severus said, turning to Hermione. She expected him to tell her she was being silly, although reassurance that he didn't blame her would have been nice. Instead, to her surprise, he gathered her up in his arms and hugged her fiercely.

It was the first time he'd truly embraced her since the night Martin had been conceived. It was tight and awkward and possessive and Hermione melted into it, burrowing her face into his chest and feeling his chin rest on the top of her head. "You have no need to apologise," he said, and she was held so tightly to him that she felt the words as well as hearing them. "And if you want me to I'll go and hex their fingers and toes off."

Fred and George could have been on Jupiter for they mattered to Hermione at that exact moment. She snuggled against him, and his arms shifted, settling into place around her. "I don't care about them," she said, her voice a bit muffled by his robes. "Only you."

They'd seen each other only once in the week since she'd left the school. She'd spent several days with her parents, and of course he couldn't have visited there without awkward explanations, and she'd got back just in time to help the boys to prepare for the party. She'd only managed to see Severus long enough to invite him to the party, and they hadn't been alone together since she'd stormed down to his room at dawn to demand her memory back.

It had been worth waiting for.

"Good." He stroked her hair, still holding her possessively. "I... well, it's all bloody embarrassing, especially since this is the first time since I was in my teens that anyone's successfully slipped me a potion. But it wasn't just the potion, Hermione."

"Really?" Hermione tried not to sound pathetically hopeful.

"Really." He made the small huffing noise that was usually as close as he came to a laugh. "I've never been seduced before. Certainly not by a charming young woman half my age who actually walked away from a group of younger, handsomer men to seek me out."

It wasn't exactly the declaration of undying love that a romance novel would have called for, but for Severus Snape, an admission of vulnerability was surely even harder to make. "I was terrified that you'd laugh in my face," Hermione said, leaning back to look up at him.

He looked nervous and elated, the way Harry had after Cho had kissed him for the first time; as if he couldn't quite believe his luck and didn't know what on earth to do with it now that he had it. "I wouldn't have laughed. Had I been sober, I would have assumed that _you_ were about to - that it was all some sort of joke at my expense."

"It wasn't." Hermione slid her arms around his neck and tugged him down so she could kiss him on the cheek. That was how she had begun the first time, and it had worked well then... "I would never do something like that, to you or anyone else."

"I know." He unwrapped an arm from around her waist to touch her face, making her shiver when he brushed his thumb lightly over her lips. "And you still... care?"

"More now than I did then," she said, leaning into the caress. "I know you better now."

"I think you must have been dropped on your head as a child." And with those unromantic words, he lowered his head and kissed her. Tentatively at first, as they worked out which way to tilt and found an angle where his nose didn't get in the way, and then with slow, searching passion, until Hermione's knees threatened to buckle and she clutched at him for support.

When they finally came up for air, Hermione took one look at him and chuckled in delight. "You look so smug," she said fondly, rising on tiptoe to give him one more brief kiss. "I was going to tell you how wonderful that was, but I don't think I will now. It wouldn't be good for you."

He smirked, the nervous uncertainty apparently a fading memory. "Your knees going was something of a clue," he agreed, tucking her in under his chin again. "Well. I'm glad we got that cleared up."

"So am I." Hermione sighed. "So... what now? Everyone knows, or soon will. We're going to have to go see my parents tonight."

He tensed. "Tonight? Now? Why?"

"Because they get the Daily Prophet. Do you want Ron's little interview to be the first they hear about this?" Hermione shuddered at the mere thought. This was going to be awkward enough without giving her mother a chance to work up a good head of steam beforehand.

"No, I suppose not." Severus was scowling - she could tell it from his voice even though she couldn't see his face. "This is going to be a delightful evening. I'm sure they'll be thrilled that their only daughter has thrown herself away on a man twice her age with neither wealth, charm, nor physical appearance to recommend him, who allowed her to have his child alone and unsupported."

"Mum's going to have a fit," Hermione agreed, wincing. "She's been saving up invective for the shiftless lout responsible ever since she found out I was pregnant and wouldn't tell her who the father was."

"I should certainly hope so. Any good mother would." He was still tense, but he sighed and managed a lopsided smile. "Still. At least Potter isn't going to be trying to murder me in my sleep, which is greater luck than I had hoped for. I would have expected him to be horrified."

"He would have been, a year ago. Or six months ago, even." Hermione rubbed her cheek against worn black wool, listening to his heart beating. "Since you two had that talk in the hospital wing he's been a bit thoughtful about you. You should probably take this as an apology for him misjudging you in the past. Harry doesn't really do apologies - he just does something to show that there's no hard feelings."

"I will take it and be glad of it, if he continues to support our... relationship." Severus looked away, seeming a little embarrassed. "Speaking of which... I had intended to - to woo you properly first, or at least attempt to. To demonstrate that my intentions were honourable. Since we must confront your parents immediately, it might be best if we put this on a more official footing, so to speak." He trailed off, looking everywhere but at her as he went rather red.

Hermione blinked. "That sounded almost like an implied proposal," she said carefully.

"It was. Er." Severus was now addressing a loose thread on the shoulder of her robes, fiddling with it aimlessly. "Of course, if you would prefer not to, I would quite understand. You are very young, and it is a great commitment to make. I only thought -"

"I'd love to." Hermione didn't know whether to laugh or cry, and compromised by sniffling as she smiled up at him. "But you have to ask properly."

He frowned, lifting his eyes to hers for a long, searching moment. "Are you certain? You wouldn't rather wait and see how things go for a while first?"

"We already did that." Hermione smiled, cupping his anxious face between her hands. She'd never seen him so worried and vulnerable before. "All those chess-games, remember? Tea and conversation and bickering over my research."

"That isn't quite the same. I am not generally considered a pleasant companion, Hermione, and -"

Hermione tugged him down and kissed him until he stopped trying to talk and was clutching her to him again. Drawing back, she smiled rather smugly herself to see the dazed look in his eyes. "I love you," she said quietly. "I've loved you for a long time. I carried Martin to term because he was _your_ son, and if I could have nothing else of you I would have him. But I'd rather have you as well."

"Oh." He cupped her cheek lightly, and she could feel his hand trembling. "I... love you too. Very much. And I think I should get you to a church as quickly as possible before you come to your senses."

"I assure you, I am in full possession of all my senses." Hermione rubbed her cheek against his palm. "Although if you'd like me not to be, you could kiss me again. That was working quite well earlier."

Hermione honestly had no idea whether it was five or ten or twenty minutes later that she heard a throat being cleared somewhere behind her. "Mr Weasley told me that the two of you were looking for me," said the voice belonging to the throat, sounding rather amused. "But not terribly hard, I see."

Hermione squeaked, and would have jumped back if Severus hadn't been holding her so securely. "Professor McGonagall! I... er... we..."

"Seem to have handled this rather well, overall." Minerva looked rather amused. "I appreciate your decision to maintain strict propriety while you were at the school. Now that you're no longer student and teacher, however, I'm glad to see the two of you getting on with things."

"You are?" Hermione knew she was absolutely brilliant red. She'd never been so embarrassed, not even the time Bill had walked in on her and Ron doing something a lot more serious than just kissing.

"Of course. I was quite worried that the two of you were going to spend months or years moping about how the other couldn't possibly care for you as you care for them, indulging in general star-crossed-lovers behaviour, etcetera and so on." Minerva shook her head. "A week is quite long enough, to my mind, especially since that child isn't getting any younger." She gave the now-dozing Martin an approving look, albeit from a safe distance. "Best to give your parents time to get used to the idea and get the formalities sorted out before he's old enough to understand what they're calling his father."

Severus snorted, and Hermione grinned weakly. "Yeah. We were going to see them next. But we thought we should talk to you about it, given the inevitable publicity."

"The thought is appreciated, my dear." Minerva nodded. "Don't worry - I've had weeks to polish my speech. I plan to be acerbic, abrupt, and to subtly imply that I think anyone who actually thinks it's any of their business is a complete idiot."

Hermione snickered - Minerva looked so pleased with herself - and Severus smiled, finally releasing his possessive grip. "Thank you, Minerva."

"You're welcome." Minerva frowned. "Of course, replacing you is going to be a bloody pain in the arse. Any idiot can teach Defence - and I'm going to have to replace Lupin, the pining for Tonks is getting on my nerves - but finding an adequate Potions Master as well is going to be much more difficult."

Hermione's warm fuzzy feelings abruptly curdled into a cold lump in the pit of her stomach. "What do you mean, replace him?"

"She means that I will no longer be teaching at Hogwarts." Severus quirked an eyebrow. "Obviously."

"But why -"

"Because of the baby, Hermione." Minerva gave Severus a rather fond look. "He didn't say so in so many words, of course, but he tendered his resignation a week ago, which I admit I found to be a promising sign"

"You never said a word!" Hermione turned to stare at Severus.

He cleared his throat, looking a bit embarrassed. "I had more important things to tell you first. As to my successor, Minerva, I interviewed candidates on Thursday. I selected one and had intended to inform you as soon as I had discussed... matters... with Hermione. I certainly didn't intend to leave it in your hands - you have no idea what to look for."

Minerva smirked, not seeming at all put out by his high-handedness. "A Slytherin, for preference. I'd rather not put poor Hooch in charge of the devious little monsters. She never really mastered deviousness and cunning and without you, she's the only former Slytherin left on staff."

"Fortunately, I have managed to find someone who will fill both positions adequately. Lucas Bulstrode has agreed to take on the positions of both Potions Master and Head of Slytherin - subject to your approval, of course."

"So good of you to consult me," the Headmistress said dryly. "I remember Lucas... Millicent's uncle, if I recall correctly. Looks like an intelligent ox."

"That's the one. He'll keep the devious little monsters in line easily enough, and he's a careful, reliable teacher. Not particularly creative, but he won't need to be." Severus shrugged. "He doesn't talk much, but you'll get used to that."

"It will certainly be a change." Minerva smiled. "I'll send him an owl in the morning. Any suggestions for Defence?"

"Not Hagrid."

"Besides that?"

"Someone who managed to avoid the war." Both teachers looked at her, and Hermione blushed a little. "Someone who won't take sides. It's hard enough being in Slytherin just now, without having a new teacher brought in who's got a nice fresh set of biases all ready."

"A good point." Minerva frowned thoughtfully while Hermione basked in the startled approval on Severus's face. "I'll give that some thought. Meanwhile, you two have some angry parents to placate."

Severus paled noticeably. "I suppose we do. Minerva, you've met Mr and Mrs Granger. Do you have any advice on how I should approach them?"

Minerva gave it what appeared to be a moment of serious thought. "With all your affairs in order."


	30. Chapter 30: Honourable Intentions

**Chapter 30: Honourable Intentions**

* * *

"Who on earth could that be at this time of night?" Jane Granger frowned, muting the television.

"I'll get it." Phillip hadn't been particularly enjoying the movie anyway - Jane had a fondness for tragic romance that he didn't share - and he wasn't at all averse to leaving Suzanne or whatever her name was to suffer alone with her heart condition. And whoever was knocking on their front door was being quite persistent about it, so it might even be important.

He opened the door to find his daughter standing on the doorstep, looking pale and tense, with a tall, dark man hovering just behind her. Phillip vaguely remembered the man as one who'd been there when Phillip and Jane had arrived at St Mungo's after the war was over. He'd been in the big 'minor injuries' room with Hermione - one of her fellow fighters, presumably. "Hermione? What's wrong? Is Martin all right?"

"He's fine." Hermione twiddled her fingers nervously. "But I need to talk to you and Mum. Can we come in?"

"Of course, love. Your mum's in the lounge." Phillip stood aside to let her pass, and then politely offered her friend his hand. "Phillip Granger."

The man - who looked to be in his forties - nodded, shaking the offered hand briefly. "Severus Snape."

That name Phillip recognised - one of Hermione's teachers, the one who'd worked as a double agent. "Pleased to meet you," he said, meaning it, and waved Snape through to follow Hermione.

"Hermione, what is it?" Jane stood up, frowning. "Is Martin all right?"

"Martin's fine. I left him with Mrs Weasley." Hermione looked dressed up, although Phillip had never really grasped the finer points of robe-fashion. Hadn't there been a party or something on? She'd mentioned it when she left. "I need to talk to both of you. Uhm... you should probably sit down."

Phillip and Jane looked at each other and sat down slowly. That didn't sound good. "Is everything all right, Hermione?"

"Well... yes and no." Hermione sat down on the couch, but Snape elected to stand behind her, looking oddly protective. "This is Severus Snape, Mum. I wrote to you both about him."

Jane nodded. "I remember - he was the Potions teacher, right? The one who was a secret agent."

"Double agent, Mum. But yes, that was him. He and I fought in the same group during the war." Hermione twiddled anxiously. "He saved my life more than once."

"Then we're grateful to him," Jane said slowly, clearly puzzled. "Of course. But why are the two of you here?"

"Because I didn't want you to hear it from someone else." Hermione looked up at Snape with an appealing expression, and he laid his hand lightly on her shoulder. That seemed to comfort her, and she faced her parents nervously. "Severus is Martin's father."

"He's _what_?" Jane straightened up so fast she nearly bounced out of her seat, going pink with indignation. "But he's your _teacher_!"

"He wasn't at the time," Hermione said steadily, her hand coming up to cover the thin one resting on her shoulder. "I promise you, Mum, while we've been teacher and student - both before and after I got pregnant - absolutely nothing has happened that couldn't have happened in front of you or anyone else."

Jane glared, and Phillip knew she wanted to argue. He intervened hastily. "Why all the secrecy? If the two of you were... well... involved, why were you hiding it from everyone?"

"We weren't involved." Hermione was brilliant red now. "It was... uhm... during the victory celebrations. I'd... Ron and I had had another row, and I knew he'd gone off with someone else, and I... er... I'd had feelings for Severus for a while, so I... uhm..." She trailed off, covering her face with her hands as she squirmed with embarrassment.

"There was a... misunderstanding, at the time." Snape had a deep, controlled voice that might have sounded menacing if the man hadn't been looking at Hermione with obvious, if restrained, affection. "Hermione believed that I would not be interested in pursuing a relationship with her, and I... had been slipped a potion by the Weasley twins. I didn't remember anything about that night, and still do not."

"Someone spiked your drink? Is that your excuse?" Jane glared. "A likely story-"

"They confessed in front of a couple of dozen witnesses tonight, Mum. That's how it all came out." Hermione frowned at her mother. "I found out that I was pregnant a while later, and I went to Professor McGonagall. You know that part. She said I could stay, it was all arranged... and then she let it drop that Severus had taken up his teaching positon again. I didn't know until then that he had, and he didn't know... well, anything."

Phillip winced. "That must have been bloody awkward."

"It really was." Hermione smiled ruefully. "I had to tell him, of course, but I offered him a choice as to whether or not he wanted to be involved. Given that I thought at the time that I'd seduced him while he was practically paralytic, it seemed like the least I could do."

"I was... sceptical, at first. It seemed a very unlikely story." Snape's fingers shifted slightly on Hermione's shoulder, and she covered his hand with hers again, smiling up at him. "As you know, I refused to openly acknowledge Martin's paternity."

Jane glared at him. "Drunk or not, you should have taken responsibility then. Not left it for nearly a year."

"I thought it better for Hermione and the child if I didn't," Snape said coolly. "I have a bad reputation in the wizarding world, Mrs Granger. A former Death Eater, the murderer of Dumbledore, traitor to one side or both - I believed that the child would suffer less for being fatherless than for being associated with me."

"And you don't think so now?" Phillip asked. It did, he had to admit, sort of make sense. Hermione had been sparing with details, when it came to the wizard's war, but from what he knew of Snape's history it wasn't an unreasonable attitude. (That didn't in any way lessen his desire to punch the man, but he was determined that at least one of Hermione's parents appear cool and rational, and it probably wasn't going to be Jane.)

"I do. But Hermione has convinced me that she is willing to take the risk." Snape looked at Hermione with a sort of half-hidden wonder.

"When we'd sorted that out, I tried to drop Potions, but Professor McGonagall wouldn't let me without a good reason. Severus did convince her that I couldn't actually attend classes while I was pregnant, but... well. We couldn't get out of it entirely. So we just sort of... made the best of things."

"We began to play chess on a regular basis," Snape said, looking just a shade nervous now. Jane had her mouth clamped shut in a thin, angry line, and was still glaring at him. "But as Hermione assured you, we were both careful to observe the proprieties. We played chess, and discussed her research and mine. That was all."

"Really." Jane infused the single word with a wealth of skepticism.

"Yes, Mum, really. The last thing I wanted was for him to get into any trouble because of me, and he _would_ have if Professor McGonagall had had any doubts whatsoever about his conduct with me or any other female student. What we may or may not have done while we weren't associated with the school was none of her business, and she wouldn't pretend that it was, but while we were at the school it _was_ her business, even if she didn't know about it at the time."

Phillip nodded slowly. He'd met Professor McGonagall several times, and liked her. Stern insistence on propriety while at the school sounded like her. "So what are you going to do now that the cat's out of the bag?"

Jane sputtered. "What do you mean, what are they going to do? He's going to damned well stay away from our daughter and -"

Hermione ignored her mother. "We talked, after my exams," she said, smiling tentatively at Phillip. "We were planning to take things more slowly, but now that it's all come out..."

"I have asked Hermione to marry me," Snape said quietly. "Under the circumstances, it seemed the proper thing to do."

"The proper thing to _do_?" Jane rose to her feet, fists clenching in fury. "The proper thing to do would have been to keep your hands and other appendages to yourself in the first place! The proper thing to do would have been to leave the school as soon as you found out and let her finish school without you lurking around! The proper thing -"

"Mum, I didn't _want_ him to -"

"I don't care! You're only eighteen, Hermione, and he's an adult, he should have known better than to take advantage of you having some sort of crush -"

"Jane," Phillip said, laying a restraining hand on her arm.

"It's not a _crush_, Mum, I -"

"If he was so concerned with the proper thing to -"

"_Jane_!" Phillip almost never raised his voice. Both his wife and his daughter stopped in mid-shriek and stared at him in surprise. "Thank you." He glanced at Snape, and smiled ruefully. "Never wait for her to stop talking, if you're arguing, or you'll never get a chance to talk at all. She gets it from her mother."

"So I see." Snape smiled just a little himself. "I've always appreciated Hermione's willingness to speak her mind."

"And I said yes when he proposed to me," Hermione said, with more than a hint of 'so there' in her tone as she glared at her mother. "You don't have to come to the wedding if you don't want to, but it _will_ happen. As soon as possible."

Jane's lip trembled. "But Hermione -"

"But nothing. I've loved Severus for a long time, and this is what I want _and_ it's what's best for Martin." Hermione folded her arms and glared. "You were right, Mum... he needs his father." She softened slightly, turning to Phillip. "Although you'll still need to teach him about football, because Severus hasn't even seen a game since he was my age and he says he doesn't remember how it goes."

"My father was a Muggle," Snape said, in answer to Phillip's unspoken question. "So I am quite capable of functioning in the Muggle world, although somewhat out of practice."

Well, that was a relief. Hermione's former boyfriend Ron had been positively embarrassing to be seen with in public - the boy seemed astonished by the simplest things, like post boxes and vacuum cleaners. "Good. We don't have much family - a couple of distant cousins, that's all - so you won't need to worry about that." Phillip tugged thoughtfully on his chin. "Hermione... are you sure about this, love? You're young to be settling down."

"I'm sure." Hermione looked at Snape in a way that made Phillip's throat tighten a bit. She was obviously very much in love, and he'd decided a long time ago that he'd just have to trust Hermione's judgement when it came to the strange world she'd found her way into. Hermione had always been independent, and it was no good expecting that to change at this late date.

All that being so, Phillip offered Snape his hand. "Then you have my blessing. Take good care of my daughter and my grandson, Severus." He would have a little talk with the man later, but Hermione seemed on the verge of severing all ties and refusing to let them see their grandchild, something she could probably keep up for weeks, if not months. Best to make a placating gesture.

"I intend to." Snape inclined his head, returning the clasp of Phillip's hand firmly. "Thank you."

"Phillip, you can't be serious!" Jane glared at him. "He's at least your age, maybe more, taking advantage of-"

"He's only thirty-nine, Mum," Hermione said reproachfully.

Phillip blinked. He would have guessed the man's age at five or ten years more, despite the lack of grey hair; and wizards, so he understood, tended to age slower than ordinary people. The war had aged Hermione, but nothing like so drastically as this, and Phillip felt slightly more kindly towards his daughter's intended. "As I understand it, that's still quite young for a wizard."

"I can anticipate at least another fifty or sixty years of reasonably good health, barring illness or injury." Snape looked amused by Jane's obvious confusion. "Hermione, should she take good care of herself, can probably look forward to another hundred."

"I see." Jane deflated slightly, obviously doing the calculations in her head.

"I think your mother and I need some time to get used to this idea," Phillip said as tactfully as he could manage. "And it's getting late. Hermione, maybe you and Severus could come by for dinner some time next week and we could get to know each other properly."

Hermione nodded. "I know. I just... I didn't want you to hear it from someone else first."

"And we appreciate it." Phillip hugged her tightly. "We love you, Hermione."

"I know, Daddy." She hadn't called him that in a long time, and he smiled as she hugged him back. "I love you too."

"And bring Martin next time," Jane said, still looking cross but hugging her daughter anyway. "I don't like you leaving him alone with those boys. I know they're fond of him, but I always worry that they'll drop him or something."

"In that, Mrs Granger, you and I are in perfect agreement." Snape shook his head. "I wouldn't put Potter and Weasley in charge of a baby dragon, let alone something more fragile."

"That's not fair. Harry's always very careful with him." Hermione grinned ruefully. "And Ron does try."

"Mr Weasley has always been extremely trying," Snape said, and Phillip snickered quietly. The noisy, puppyish Ron Weasley had always irritated him a bit, too. "Although I concede that his unexpected support was... appreciated."

"Ron and Harry were very supportive, when it... well, got announced in the middle of a party with a couple of hundred guests." Hermione smiled fondly. "They've never liked Severus -"

"A charitable understatement," Snape muttered.

"- and if anyone was likely to object even more than Mum, it was them. But they were very sweet - Harry even made a public announcement supporting us, which should count for something." Hermione sighed. "We should get back, though. Mum, Dad, don't talk to _anyone_ you don't recognize who asks you about us, no matter who they say they are. If anyone actually admits to being a reporter, quote the Secrecy Statutes at them."

Phillip saw Snape's eyebrow go up, and grinned. "Hermione brought back a book on Wizarding Law as it pertains to Muggles after her second year," he explained. "We'll get it out and brush up, love, don't worry."

"Good." Hermione stood on tiptoe to kiss his cheek. "I love you, Dad."

"I love you too, Hermione. Off you go, now."

* * *

The engagement of Severus Snape and Hermione Granger was announced on the front page of the Daily Prophet the next morning, and rather more accurately on the appropriate page several days later. The _Daily Prophet_ speculated extensively on possible Sex Scandals At School, but was shot down by a scandalized Minerva McGonagall who left no doubt in anyone's mind that she would have known had there been any of _that_ going on. The _Quibbler_ secured a short interview with Miss Granger, who deigned to speak to Luna Lovegood to the effect that she was very happy, thank you, and that it was very nice to have someone she could really talk to about things. To the great disappointment of the _Quibbler_'s readers, Miss Lovegood failed to ask a single question about sex, passionate love, or the Suffering of the War, and instead went into some depth on the couple's research into the uses of rose-root in potions.

The _Daily Prophet_, naturally, was desperate to get pictures - or better yet, pictures and gossip - from the wedding. Ginny Weasley, a friend of the bride, happened to let slip the fact that the couple were planning a Muggle wedding at a church near Miss Granger's family home, and photographers were on watch around the clock.

The wedding was very small, very quiet, and held at Hogwarts. The teachers were naturally invited - including the new Potions Master - as were Martin Granger, Draco Malfoy, Harry Potter, the Weasley family, and the bride's parents. A kindly wizard from the Ministry conducted the brief, traditional ceremony outside under a spreading oak tree, and the new husband and wife seemed quietly pleased.

Since no force on earth could have prevented the Hogwarts house-elves from providing a feast for the first wedding most of them had ever seen, there was a tempting spread laid out under another tree nearby. People drifted over to it, afterwards, and after kissing his new wife with an embarrassed but proprietary air, Severus followed one of the drifters, who had wandered away to look out over the lake.

"Congratulations," Draco said quietly, turning to smile at his godfather. "Really. I'm glad you're happy."

"So am I, obviously. But I am sorry that this is... difficult for you." Severus had expected Draco to make some polite last-minute excuse - he would have fled the country, himself, had Hermione chosen to marry someone else. But Draco had made no excuses, and the smile looked almost genuine.

"It is." Draco looked over at Hermione, who was talking to Percy Weasley some distance away. She'd disdained tradition, saying that it was silly to wear white when everyone knew she was a mother already, and had been married in dusty pink silk that in Severus's opinion made her look like a lovely, glowing flower. Percy, on the other hand, looked like the incurable beaurocrat that he was, albeit a happier and more relaxed one than usual. "It is hard. If she'd married anyone else, I don't think I could have stood it." He sipped the champagne that had been pressed on all of them by Filius Flitwick, who'd been telling everyone who would listen how happy he was that two of his favourite former pupils were going to settle down. "But you... I know you love her, and that you'll make her happy."

"I will do my best," Severus said a little doubtfully. So far Martin was kept happy by the regular application of lullabies and cuddles, and Hermione equally so by a steady supply of kisses and books from his personal library. He was fairly certain that they'd both get harder to please at some point, though.

"I know." Draco smiled. "I'm going to be appallingly sentimental for just a moment here -"

"I understand it's traditional at weddings."

"Quite. Yes, it's a wrench to see her married to someone else. But I'd cut off... well, not my remaining arm but at least a leg to see you really happy. You mean more to me than almost anyone else alive, and I'd give up a lot more than a hopeless crush on a girl for you."

Severus felt his face warm, and cleared his throat. "And I would make equal sacrifices to see you happy," he said quietly, embarrassed but sincere. "Had she loved you..."

"But she didn't." Draco sighed. "I'll be going on that trip alone, I think... I need some time away to clear my head and get her out of my system. I'll be back when I can visit you without coveting your wife."

Severus nodded. "We will both be glad to see you when you return." Hermione was talking to Professor Sprout, now, and blushing as pink as her robes. Severus made a mental note to ask her later exactly what Pomona had been saying. "She has no idea how you feel."

"Good. Keep it that way. At least I can escape this with my dignity intact." Draco finished his champagne and straightened his shoulders. "If you'll excuse me, Severus, I want to go have a word with Potter before I leave. He's been rather conciliatory, lately, and I want to take advantage of it before it wears off."

"Of course." Severus watched him go, feeling a little sad for Draco's loneliness and very proud of his calm resolve. A minute later, his arm was lifted and drawn around a pair of shoulders, and he looked down at his wife. "Are you being possessive, or do you wish me to appear so?"

"A little of both." Hermione smiled up at him. "What do you think of being married, so far? I quite like it - everyone keeps telling me how pretty I look, and later I'll finally have you all to myself."

Severus had been rather keenly anticipating that, himself. To Hermione's dismay, he had insisted on waiting until they were properly married before renewing the intimacies that he no longer remembered. If it turned out that she was put off by him when sober, or something, he'd wanted to get the commitment first. "You do look pretty," he said, reminding his baser urges that they would have to stay and be pleasant for at least half an hour longer. "I've never been particularly enamoured of pink myself, but it suits you."

Hermione laughed. "You mean you've never harboured a secret desire to wear pink and put flowers in your hair?" she asked, touching the wreath of tiny pink and white rosebuds that circled her head.

"Never." Severus had flatly refused to wear anything but his customary black to the wedding. His single concession to tradition had been to remove his shoes for the ceremony, he and his bride standing barefoot on the fertile earth as they made their vows. "Champagne makes you silly, I see."

"Just a little." Hermione grinned up at him. "And sentimental. Come down here and kiss me."

He did that, after checking that nobody was watching. He might be sloppily in love with his wife, as Potter put it, but there was no need to parade the fact.

* * *

Severus was resigned to the fact that he wouldn't be sleeping through the night for at least a year or two to come. Although the prospect didn't fill him with delight, resignation was made easier by the delightful and hitherto unknown experience of having his nude wife snuggled up to him while their son nursed. Martin was at his most adorable when drowsy and well-fed, and Hermione was especially lovely when naked. It all worked out rather well.

"This is so much more comfortable than pillows," Hermione murmured, snuggling back against him. "Warmer, too."

"I am happy to be of service." Severus settled his arms a little closer around her and their son.

Hermione snickered. "You did seem to be. All four times."

Severus smirked. Admittedly he'd had to start at mid-afternoon, in order to allow himself some recovery time, but he flattered himself that their wedding night had been quite successful. Hermione had certainly seemed very pleased. "I'm glad you were... satisfied."

"Very. Impressed, too." Hermione tipped her head back, lips brushing against his jaw. "I'm sorry about him waking you up, though. I'm afraid you'll have to get used to it."

"I don't mind." And he really didn't. Apparently even Severus Snape wasn't immune to the sentimentality of parenthood. Strange as it was, he found himself quite content to hold his wife and son at a time when all sensible people should be sleeping. "That looks much less romantic than the descriptions. Is he chewing?"

"Gumming, anyway." Hermione shifted, wincing. "It's bloody uncomfortable, sometimes. I'd be seriously considering bottle-feeding him if the research didn't indicate that he's likely to be more alert, cleverer, and slightly earlier to speak and walk if he's breast-fed for at least the first six months."

"Really?" Severus looked down at his son with some interest. "What research is that, exactly?"

That discussion lasted until Hermione went to put Martin back in his cot. Afterwards, curled up together in the bed Severus had occupied alone for far too many years, they were silent for some time. "Hermione?" Severus whispered, when he was almost sure she'd dozed off. "I do love you, you know."

"I know," she murmured, smiling a little without opening her eyes. "I love you too."

"Good." He tucked her in under his chin, and pulled a strand of her hair out of his mouth. It went everywhere when it was loose. "Go to sleep."

"Mmm." She sighed, and in a few moments her breathing steading into the slow rhythm of sleep.

Severus listened to that soft breathing for a long time.

(end)


	31. Chapter 31: Epilogue

**Epilogue**

* * *

Severus Snape admired the back of his wife's neck. Her hair was pinned up in a complicated style decorated with sparkling green and gold combs, and her kimono had been tugged down slightly at the back in traditional fashion to display the delicacy of her neck. Although she was at her loveliest stark naked, Severus thought she was rarely more beautiful than when she donned traditional Japanese garb. It emphasized her fragility and grace, while concealing those areas he didn't like anyone else looking at and displaying to best advantage those he didn't mind sharing. He had been the happy recipient of a great deal of admiration and envy on their last visit, and anticipated more this time. (There would also be envy to be credited to the award being presented to them for their latest bit of brilliant research, but he had several of those and enjoyed envy of his beautiful and clever wife much more.)

"You're ogling my neck again, aren't you?" Hermione smiled at him in the mirror, where she was putting the finishing touches to her makeup.

"Of course." He leaned down to kiss the back of said neck lightly. "I'm very fond of your neck."

Hermione laughed, leaning back against him. "I've noticed that. Although this feels all wrong."

"All wrong how?" He investigated the soft skin below her ear. Lightly perfumed and as sensitive as it always was.

"Well, you're kissing me, and there are no children telling us how revolting it is, no apprentices demanding our attention, no desperate emergencies interrupting -"

"Severus? Hermione? Are you still here?" The call came from the outer room of their hotel suite, sounding rather plaintive.

"And the balance of the universe is restored," Severus muttered. The neck would still be there later, he supposed, although he would have liked to have more time with it now. "Yes, Draco, we're still here. What is it?"

"I need help. This isn't an outfit designed for putting on with only one hand." When they entered the outer room, Draco took one look at Hermione's pink cheeks and rolled his eyes. "Were you two snogging again?"

"We would have been if you'd given us a minute." Hermione started adjusting and tying things. Draco had selected a very attractive grey and silver kimono, when Severus had told him that traditional Japanese dress would be required for this dinner, but he clearly had no idea how to put the thing on.

"That's revolting, it really is. You two are grandparents now, you shouldn't still be getting all romantic." Draco grinned. "Of course, you two have always been disgustingly sentimental."

"_We've_ been disgustingly sentimental?" Severus snorted. "Draco, how many times have you mirror-called home since we got here?"

"Once or twice."

Hermione cleared her throat.

"All right, a couple of times."

Severus cleared _his_ throat.

"All right, all right, five times. So far."

"Draco, we've only been here for four days," Hermione said, folding Draco's empty sleeve to a graceful angle and fastening it there with a tap of her wand.

Draco looked sheepish. "Well, I called just quickly to tell Susan we got here all right, and then every night to say goodnight to Athene."

"You spoil that child." Severus snorted. The first four Malfoy children had been sensible enough, but Susan and Draco babied Athene outrageously. Hogwarts was going to come as a terrible shock to the girl. "She's eight years old, Draco, she can manage without you for a week."

"I know. It's more for my benefit than hers." Draco looked down at himself and grinned. "Thanks, Hermione."

"You're welcome. And speaking of being grandparents." Hermione beamed, going over to an open letter lying on a small table. "Martin sent us a picture. Want to see our granddaughter?"

"Of course." Draco accepted the picture eagerly. Taking one look, he started to laugh. "I see that the Snape nose and the Potter eyes were both defeated by the Granger hair."

"Lots of babies have hair that stick up," Hermione said defensively. "It doesn't have to be _my_ fault."

Severus looked over Draco's shoulder at the picture, smiling a little. His granddaughter did have an impressive tuft of brown hair, even at one day old. Martin looked extremely smug, naturally, and Lily terribly proud. Lily strongly resembled both her mother and her grandmother, with straight red hair, fair skin, Lily Evans's green eyes and Ginny Weasley's freckles. Severus had always liked her. "They've named the child Jennifer. A nice, sensible name."

"Unlike mine, you mean," said the father of Atlas, Hestia, Persephone, Xenophon and Athene.

"Precisely." Severus watched Hermione tuck the picture into a convenient sleeve. She would, he knew, display it to everyone who took even the slightest interest at the banquet.

Hermione looked, to his eyes, as lovely as she always had. Maturity had refined her face, and there were only a few threads of silver in her soft hair. She was still slender, still graceful, and her eyes were as beautiful as ever. For the first time in his life, his own hair was being cooperative - instead of the usual scattered grey, he had acquired touches of silver at the temples that were broadening at a slow, dignified pace. Otherwise, so far as he could tell, he looked much the same - aside from the terrible indignity of a slightly thickened waistline, which his robes fortunately concealed.

"Stop that," Draco said, and Severus looked around in surprise.

"Stop what?"

"Gazing adoringly at your wife. If she's all pink like that when we go downstairs, everyone will think you two have been doing something all grandparents should long ago have stopped doing."

Hermione grinned impishly. "There's a thought. We've got at least twenty minutes."

"So we do." Severus looked at the clock, and then smirked at Draco. "We'll see you downstairs."

Draco blinked, and then blushed hard. "Er... right. I'll just... go then."

"Do." Severus shut the door pointedly behind his godson. He met his wife's eyes, and they both laughed. "You'd think he'd know better than to suggest that sort of thing by now."

"You would, wouldn't you?" Hermione smiled bewitchingly at him. "Now come over here and kiss me."

They were slightly late getting to the banquet. Fortunately, the letter and the picture of their new granddaughter proved to be an adequate excuse.

(really the end this time)


End file.
